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MODERN MONOLOGUES 



MODERN 
MONOLOGUES 



BY 
MARJORIE BENTON COOKE 



< 



CHICAGO AND NEW YORK 

THE DRAMATIC PUBLISHING COMPANY 

CHARLES H. SERGEL, PRESIDENT 

1903 



THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 



Two Copies Received 



JUL 3 1903 ^ *0 

Copynght Entry I *jrv V^ *v J 

!%<MA/^/*| 3 
CLASS^J ^ XXc. No I 

5^) too 

COPY B. 



Copyright, 1893, by 
Marjorie Benton Cooke 



THE DEVINNE PRESS. 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 



Cupid Plays Coach .... 3 

A Modern Becky Sharp . . . 13 

Her Day at Home . . . .21 

The Road of the Loving Heart . 27 

What the Janitor Heard . . * 33 

In the Merry Month of May . . 41 

Suburbanites ...... 49 

Their Last Ride Together . . 63 

When Shades Assemble . . . .69 

Over the Coffee-Cups . . . 77 

From Long Ago to Now . . .85 

The First Lesson . . . . 10 1 

A Summer Idyl . . . . .107 

Below Stairs . . . . . m 

On Woman's Rights . . . .119 

A Highly Colored Sketch . . 125 

v 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 



A Dark-Brown Diplomat . . . 137 
At Mme. Newberry's . . . .143 

How it Happened 157 

When Morning Breaks . . . 175 

"Who 's Afraid ?" 187 

The Optimist 197 



VI 



PREFACE 

THE present-day interest in monologues, 
which has prompted the publication of 
this little book, seems to warrant a fore- 
word of comment. 

The monologue is a character study in lit- 
tle; the apotheosis of a chosen individuality. 
It may be simply a rough sketch, or it may 
be a finished miniature — it depends entirely 
upon the monologist. 

Three things seem to be essential to a suc- 
cessful monologist. First, the power of 
keen observation. The man who intends to 
characterize must be a student of character. 
He must find a new text and a new chapter 
in every street-car, and on every street 
corner. In the second place, he must be able 
to impersonate — to sink his own personality 
completely in that of the character he wishes 
to represent. He must, by walk, expression, 
intonation, and gesture, become that char- 
acter. In the third place, he must be able to 

vii 



PREFACE 

make an audience understand the unspoken 
half of the conversation, and he must have 
the ability to make the one character he de- 
lineates typical of a whole class. 

All the character studies in this book are 
intended to be spoken by one person, al- 
though the monologue form is not always 
retained. In some of the sketches the reader 
is required to do double duty and imperson- 
ate two speakers, which necessitates, of 
course, complete change of character. 

No definite rules can be insisted upon as 
to the best method of presenting mono- 
logues. All the little studies in this book 
have stood the test of trial before varied au- 
diences. The successful rendition of them 
must be left to the discretion of the reader. 

m. b. c. 



vm 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 



CUPID PLAYS COACH 

Scene — The porch of a golf club. The men 
and girls are having tea. There 
are a tea-table and a chair at one 
side of the porch. 

Time — "Afternoon of the Annual Woman's 
Tournament. 

Enter Gwendolin Phillips, winner of the 
cup. 

Gwen speaks 

Hello, everybody! You all beat me in, 
did n't you ? 

[Takes off hat and jabs imaginary 
pins through it.] 
Well, I had to stop and talk to every one 
I met — that 's the bother with being a 
babbler ! 

[Looks from one to another in sur- 
prise.] 

3 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

What's this? What's all this? Oh— 
nonsense! I mean— oh, thank you — but 
talk about my luck — not my victory. It 's 
all luck in golf! 

[Nods toward the girl at tea-table.] 

Yes, I will have some tea, thanks. Just 
put everything in it! [Motions to man.] 

No, no, now don't get up, I don't want 
to sit down — I 'd much rather sit back here 
and swing my feet, as no perfect lady would 
ever do! [Perches on porch rail.] 

Pass over my tea, will you, Dicky Tod ? 
[Takes tea-cup from him.] 

Much obliged. That looks nice — and 
tastes better. Funny thing about luck, is n't 
it? Some days, my little God-o'-Luck just 
seems to sit on the tip-top of every club I 've 
got. I simply can't miss the ball — not if 
I try. Just make my arms go, and he does 
the rest! [Sips tea.] 

Tell you something — secret — everybody! 
I 'd never think of going into a match, like 
to-day's for instance, without burning two 
fat sticks of Japanese incense before my 
God-o'-Luck! [Laughs and sips her tea.] 

Pagan, did you say, Dicky Tod? Of 
course, I 'm a pagan — we all are ! Non- 

4 



CUPID PLAYS COACH 

sense — why, we are! We all bow down 
before idols of some sort. Oh, there are 
lots of kinds, Dicky — wood, brass, and 
stone! As for you, my son, I think we all 
know the size, shape, and complexion of 
your idol. 

[Suggestive glance toward girl at the 
tea-table .] 

So you need n't cast any pebbles at mine. 
Very good tea, Mabel. 

[Goes and deposits her cup on table.'] 

No, not just now, thanks. You come out 
and let me spill the tea. Oh, come on — I '11 
drink more than all the rest of you — so it 
will just save time. That 's right. 

[She sits at tea-table.] 

Won't you have a cup yourself, dear? 
How will you have it? Two sugars? And 
a lemon — 'scuse fingers. [Hands her cup.] 

Anybody else ready? Well, what did you 
go round in, Margaret? 

Did you really? Good for you! What 
did you do Wee Drap in? You don't say! 
[Confidentially.] I give you my word of 
honor, I never worried over anything in my 
life as I did over that hole! I 've tried for 
it all night long in my dreams for two mor- 

. 5 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

tal weeks. Those awful dreams, you know 
— that could n't come true ! I always seem 
to be swinging my club, and swinging my 
club, and yet I never hit the ball. Then I 
open my eyes and see it speeding off toward 
the fifth, and I know I must have missed the 
fourth and have to come back, tripling my 
strokes. Whew ! Each night I 've dreaded 
going to sleep, and facing the tragedy again ! 
[Quick change of tone to gaiety.] 

Have some more tea, some one — do! 
Thank you, Dicky, I thought I could de- 
pend on you. 

[Takes his cup and refills it as she 
talks.] 

Dicky, my boy, you 're a tank for tea. 
And when you 're old — oh, very— very old 
— as old as I am — you '11 turn into a little, 
crumpled, green old man, like a leaf of 
Oolong tea! [Recites tragically.] 

Here lies the grave of Dicky Tod, 
Who lies in peace, beneath the sod. 
Alas— he died to drink no more, 
Quite steeped in tea— instead of lore! 

[Laughing.] Not so bad — offhand! 

[Sudden change to serious manner.] 
6 



CUPID PLAYS COACH 

Dicky, see what I Ve done for you ! 
Mabel is convulsed with emotion. Never 
mind, Mabel dear — don't take it so to heart 
— the worst has not yet come ! 

[In her ordinary tone.] 
Won't somebody have some more tea? 
It 's a drug on the market since I took 
charge. I '11 have to drink it myself. 

[Pours herself a cup — then in an 
over-carefully unconscious man- 
ner.] 
Here comes Mr. Lawrence. 

[Shakes hands with him.] 
How do you do? Will — will you have 
some of my wares? You hate tea? Oh, 
what a Philistine! [Deprecatory tone.] 

Now, that 's very gallant, I 'm sure — but 
I 'm loath to dispense unwelcome favors. 
Thank you, Mr. Lawrence. I 've just been 
telling them all about my luck. The idea of 
my doing Wee Drap in four! I had ex- 
pected to do it in fourteen with much effort ! 
I surprised myself — I even surprised my 
caddy — and that 's a triumph worth boast- 
ing of ! What 's the matter ? 

[Looks from one to another.] 
Going? Is it Exeunt omnes? You desert 

7 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

too — Dicky? Going to burn incense before 
your idol? Hope she proves kind! Good 
night — see you to-morrow, Mabel. Good- 
by. 

[Nods farewell after them, then 
turns to Lawrence.] 
Well — Mr. Lawrence, we seem to be the 
only survivors. Survival of the fittest? 
[Laughs.] Modest soul! Will you look at 
that sunset— let 's go over to the other end 
of the porch, where we can see it better. 

[She moves to other side of porch 
and sits on railing.] 
Yes, it has been a happy day for me. One 
likes to excel in things, even if it 's only 
golf ! Oh, but I don't, you know. I 'm not 
good at all in lots of games. I can play 
tennis — I play at racquets, but I 'm a perfect 
dub at croquet. Love ? Ah — that 's a game 
I never play. It has n't any rules, you know 
— and I wont play a game without rules. 

[Interrupting him, smiling.] 
Now, that 's just the trouble — these 
games where you make your own rules — 
you never know who wins ! That 's very gal- 
lant, but I 'm not at all sure I would. 
W-e-1-1, you see, I play at so many games, 

8 



CUPID PLAYS COACH 

I really don't think I have time for any 
more. [Surprised tone.] 

Oh, you want to teach me ! You 're a pro- 
fessional ? Only amateur — well — that 's en- 
couraging. Is it — is it a very hard game 
to understand? As easy as that? Well — I 
may be able to grasp it. I warn you, though 
— I 'm awfully stupid. 

[The bland expression of a "seeker 
for knowledge " spreads over her 
face.] 
Now what? You choose — you play part- 
ners, do you ? Well — I — I 've chosen. You 
have to tell whom you 've chosen ? Oh, well 
— I '11 choose again. I choose — well — I 
choose you. Now what ? 

[Looks straight ahead, repeating his 

words.] 

" Make up my mind that you are the only 

man in the world! " [Laughs.] 

It 's rather an egotistical game from the 

standpoint of the teacher, is n't it ? 

[Seriously.] 
Of course, I could n't make up my mind 
on a subject like that — offhand. I — I might 
practise that. Go on. 

[She looks at him inquiringly.] 

2 9 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

What 's the matter ? Can't you remember 
the next step ? I thought you said you knew 
this game? What do you do? 

[Looks straight ahead, quoting him 

again.] 

" Forget everything, and everybody — see 

only her face, with its laughing eyes, it 's 

wicked mouth, and the dimple in her chin ! " 

[Laughs mockingly.'] 

Well, I 'm afraid your experience is n't 

going to help me at all. I can't go round 

seeing nothing but wicked mouths — how 'd 

I ever play golf? 

[Suddenly becomes very serious.] 
Oh, I beg your pardon — you have to be 
serious — do you ? That 's one of the rules, 
I suppose. I hope I '11 be able to grasp the 
rules by and by. [Looks at him slyly.] 

We don't seem to get along very fast, do 
we? What do I do now? 

[Breathless surprise.] 

Just love you ! Is — is that all ? I — I think 

that 's one of the things I 'd have to practise. 

[Suddenly.] 
And what are you doing all this time, may 
I ask? 

{Surprise, embarrassment, tender- 
ness Hash across the girl's face.] 
10 



CUPID PLAYS COACH 

Really ! as much as that ? 

[Dodges quickly. ,] 

Oh! is that the way you score? 

\ Stern and serious tone.] 

May I ask who taught you this game? 
Oh, Cupid — the great professional — no won- 
der you play so well! [Rises.] 

But see — the sun has quite gone, and we 
must go. I know I don't know very much 
about it yet — but I might take another lesson 
to-morrow. Come along, Partner! 



ii 



A MODERN BECKY 
SHARP 

Scene — My Lady's boudoir. 

Discovered — My Lady stretched on a couch. 

She speaks 

[Yawns and stretches.] I 'm tired, and 
sleepy, and cross! Tired — and sleepy — and 
cross ! To-night — my night — the night I Ve 
worked for, and slaved for, and lied for — 
and now, I 'm tired, and sleepy, and cross ! 
That 's the way. You want a thing with all 
your might and main, you work for it — and 
get it — and then you wonder why you 
wanted it. Here I am to-night, on a pin- 
nacle of accomplishment, and the hateful 
little fiend in my head saying, " Why, in the 
name of all that 's silly, have you spent two 
whole years trying to get an invitation to 
one of Mrs. Jarvin's dinners ? " You know 
why, little fiend — you know why. Mrs. 

13 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

Jarvin is our social St. Peter; she jangles 
her keys in the ears of the great unworthy, 
and her nod — her nod admits you to the in- 
nermost shrine. I Ve an insatiable curiosity 
about shrines, myself — and St. Peter has 
nodded. Well, I Ve worked for it. Like the 
Little Corporal, I Ve climbed up over the 
dead bodies of all the friends God ever gave 
me, and God was n't very generous to me — 
not very ! {Quick vicious smile.'] 

I suppose that little Winston cat will be 
there. I have n't forgotten our last conver- 
sation about the Jarvin dinners — she had her 
first card, and came to gloat. 

" Of course, Mrs. Anstrom, you 're going 
to the Jarvin's dinner ? " 

" I ? Oh, no — I understand this is her 
annual duty dinner to the bourgeoisie — 
you 're going, of course." 

"My dear," said the Winston cat, " you 'd 
sell your dirty little soul to go ! " 

And I would have — I would have. It 's 
the only time I ever knew her to blunder 
upon the truth. 

I must be careful with the women — not 
too grateful to the Jarvin herself. I must 
cultivate that little male annex of hers — and 



A MODERN BECKY SHARP 

make myself irresistible to her ugly daugh- 
ter. I '11 snub the Winston royally. I may 
allow Mrs. Lambert to ask me to call — we '11 
see. I must be seen for at least five minutes 
with Mrs. George Alexander — and then — 
and then for the men, and diplomacy out 
of the window. A pair of eyes and a wit 
for the men — and hang your ancestors ! 

[Rises nervously.] 

I must be calm, cool, and collected. I 
must remember that I 'm not wedded to 
luck — Lord, no — I 'm wedded to Jack An- 
strom, — may something happen to stop his 
stupid old mouth! 

[Looks at her watch, and turns 
quickly to touch a bell.] 

Marie — why are n't you here to dress me, 
Marie? Why do you keep me waiting? 
Don't you know that I dine at the Jarvin's 
to-night? What? Toothache — what do 
you mean by having toothache to-night? 
Why don't you have your teeth pulled? 
Where's my gown, Marie? Toothache, or 
none, you should have had it here. Has n't 
come ? It 's fate — fate against me ! Well, it 
is n't the first time I 've gone up against 
fate. Get a cab, and go for it, Marie. No 

15 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

— have Annette call up Madam on the phone 
— tell her I give her fifteen minutes in which 
to get that gown here. Hurry up! This is 
absurd, I 'm getting all excited. Well — 
did you tell her? Come along, then, and do 
my hair. Oh, what a face ! — why did n't you 
go to the dentist this afternoon? No time? 
You have all the time there is. Money ? 
Why, what do you do with all the money I 
give you, Marie? Is it — is it really as long 
as that? Well, I see I must get you a check 
from somewhere, Marie. You 're a very 
good maid, Marie — the best I ever had, and 
very patient. I appreciate it. I hope you '11 
get your reward sometime — Marie — in 
heaven, perhaps. 

Now do your best by me, Marie. I want 
to make a great sensation to-night. I want 
every woman in the room to envy me my 
maid. No — pile it up high in puffs and rolls, 
such as only you can accomplish. Take care 
— you 're pulling. No, it does n't need 
curling, it 's curly enough. I don't want 
it to look like the Winston's. She always 
looks to me as if she dressed in her sleep, 
and then her husband bustled in and hastily 
did her hair. Loosen that — no higher — 
16 



A MODERN BECKY SHARP 

there! Dear me, I never was so red in my 
life ! When you 're young and get excited, 
you 're very, very pink — when, you 're mid- 
dle-aged and excited, you get very red, and 
after that you get very purple. I wonder 
how many more years of the red stage I 'm 
good for! [Smiles.] Marie, you lie so de- 
lightfully, that one is tempted to believe you. 
More hairpins? Through? 

[Takes hand-glass and inspects her- 
self.] 

Oh, Marie, I don't like it at all. What is 
the matter with it? Have you toothache in 
your finger-tips? Now don't cry about it. 
Go away, Marie, go to bed, or to the den- 
tist, or somewhere out of my sight. No, 
I don't want any one to help me, I '11 dress 
myself. [Watches Marie depart.] 

Teeth ! What are we coming to, when our 
very servants have teeth! Shall I take that 
hair down or let it be? 

[Turns at entrance of woman.] 

Oh, you 've come at last, have you ? I 
thought, perhaps, Madam expected me to 
call for the gown on my way to dinner! 
Get it out at once, please — I 'm in a great 
hurry. What 's the matter at Mme. Mer- 

*7 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

ton's that she sends out a gown ten minutes 

before it 's to be worn ? Sickness in the 

work-room ? Nonsense — that 's no excuse ! 

[Gets into skirt, and struggles to get 

band to meet.] 

Well, whom did you make this band for? 
Certainly not for me ! It 's good three 
inches too small. Let it out — let it out — I 
can't breathe in the thing ! Now, what are 
you going to do ? Well, you 've got to do 
something — let it out — rip it — pin it — but 
do something! [Takes deep breath. ~\ 

Well, that 's better. It is n't particularly 
comfortable yet — but I can breathe occasion- 
ally. Get me into the rest of the creation. 
I know I ought n't to wear this color to- 
night — with this red face and all this 
sparkle, I look like a bird of paradise. 
What do you think — oh, of course, you 
would n't know. Touch that bell, please. 
Now, where does this go ? [Indicates shoul- 
der-strap.] I don't like the thing! Oh, here 
you are — Marie, what do you think? Do 
I look like a Christmas tree with all the 
candles lit? Brilliant, you think? Well — 
assume a virtue, if you have it not! Hook 
this business, please. Go away, now, Marie ; 
18 



A MODERN BECKY SHARP 

you give me the horrors. Who's that? 
No — don't come in, Jack. Stay where you 
are. Now I know it — I have a watch right 
here, and I know the exact time. Ouch — 
take care — it 's a pin ! Jack, what have you 
done to yourself? You look exactly like a 
broiled lobster. No, no, that 's too tight. 
What strange misfortunes you do have with 
your dress shirts, dear — they always bulge 
in, or bulge out. Why don't you sometime 
strike a medium bulge ? Now — don't tell me 
how I look — I know! [To woman.] Do 
you consider me into this thing ? Tell Mme. 
Merton that I think it an abominable failure, 
and that I '11 come and tell her so myself to- 
morrow. Throw this around me, dear. 
Take care — take care, my dear man, you 're 
not putting a blanket on a horse. Come 
along. As far as I 'm concerned, I feel more 
like a cannibal feast than a dinner with St. 
Peter! [Exit] 



19 



HER DAY AT HOME 

Scene — Drawing-room. 
Discovered — The hostess and her best 
friend, who assists. 

The hostess speaks 

[Sighs.] Is n't it absurd? Five o'clock, and 
about ten people here ! If you announce your 
hours from four to six, everybody makes it 
a point to arrive at five-thirty, and pack your 
rooms for twenty minutes. The next time 
I send out cards, I shall say from one o'clock 
on, and I '11 have a mob here on the stroke 
of one, to see whether or not I 'm crazy. . . . 
Oh, yes — Hartleys'? I was there — were 
you? Why, of course, I talked to you for 
five minutes, did n't I ? How stupid of me ! 
To tell you the truth, I have n't an idea 
whom I saw, or what I did. Did you ever 
see such a jam? I don't see how that woman 
has the courage to entertain in that tiny 

21 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

house. I was crushed and pulled — my gown 
was torn; I give you my word, I never ex- 
pected to get out of there fully clad ! When 
I was finally squeezed into the dining-room 
by the crowd back of me, I succeeded, after 
ages of patient waiting, in getting a slim 
sandwich and a small piece of chocolate. 
Give you my word, my dear, that 's all I 
got! It certainly was an ideal afternoon. 
[Inspects her empty rooms. ] 
I am so tired of standing here, aren't 
you? You know I can't see why, with all 
our modern improvements, we don't reno- 
vate our methods of entertaining. Some 
sort of big social clearing-house, you know. 
I could send in a list of people I wanted to 
entertain, the man in charge would issue the 
cards and receive the replies, and I 'd be 
happy, and the guests would be happy — Oh, 
how do you do, Mrs. Marvel — so glad to see 
you. So good of you to come early. You 
know Mrs. Wescott ? Yes, it is a vile day — 
[To Mrs. W.~\ Here they come thick and 
fast! [Gushingly.] How do you do, Mrs. 
Thompson — so glad to see you. You know 
Mrs. Wescott ? Yes, is n't it ? I never have 
any luck in weather. . . . Mrs. Gennett — 
22 



HER DAY AT HOME 

I 'm so glad to see you. I understand 
you 're to be congratulated on the engage- 
ment of your daughter. You must be so 
glad to get her settled — at last ! It 's lovely, 
is n't it ? Why, Miss Knowlton, how do you 
do ? Have n't seen you for ages. Have you 
quite forsaken frivolity? [Deep concern.] 
In mourning — your father ? Oh, I beg your 
pardon, I did n't know — or at least — I — I 
think I must have forgotten. . . . The flow- 
ers I sent ? Oh, I 'm so glad you liked them. 
[Hastily.] Mrs. Wescott, this is Miss 
Knowlton. How do you do? Great pleas- 
ure, I 'm sure. [Passes her along.] A mo- 
ment's breathing space, Mrs. Wescott. 
Did n't I tell you they 'd all come at once? 
Here 's that strange and wonderful Mrs. 
Starr — I always want to say to her : 

Twinkle, twinkle, little star — 
How I wonder what you are! 

[Quick change to delight.] Why, Mrs. 
Starr — how do you do ? So glad to see you. 
I was broken-hearted that I missed your talk 
at Mrs. Martin's on " The Analytic Study of 
Ragtime." [Surprised tone.] You did n't? 
Oh, how stupid of me — I 've confused you 

*3 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

with Mrs. Bangor. Your subject is " Cook- 
ing in the Eighteenth Century/' isn't it? 
You know Mrs. Wescott? [To Mrs. W.] 
My dear, did you hear what I said to her? 
She and Mrs. Bangor are sworn enemies! 
Here comes Miss Waight. I 've always 
thought her parents must have had a pro- 
phetic sense of humor when they named her 
Carrie Waight. Is n't she a whale ! How do 
you do, Miss Waight — so glad to see you. 
My dear girl, what have you done to your- 
self? No — but you look so thin! You do 
like to be told that — I don't see why you 
should— why — no — you 're not fat ! You 
know Mrs. Wescott? .... Mrs. Right, 
this is a pleasure. And how is that dear 
husband of yours? Oh, I— I beg your par- 
don — I — Mrs. Wescott — Mrs. Right. [To 
Mrs. W.] Well, did you hear that? I asked 
her how her husband was, and she said she 
really did n't know — she believed he was in 
Europe ! I tell you it is n't safe to ask the 
simplest question of your dearest friend 
these days! Here comes Mrs. Easton — 
prepare for an avalanche! 

[Her face assumes the gone look of 
one deluged with talk. She makes 
ineffectual efforts to break in.] 
24 



HER DAY AT HOME 

Oh, how do you do, Mrs. Easton? So — 
indeed ? Oh, I 'm so glad — No ? I should 
never have expected it — Really? How 
dreadful! I am so sorry — Oh, well, that's 
better. . . . You know Mrs. ... [To Mrs. 
W.] Whew! have you ever been able to 
get in a word edgewise? I never have. 
Wonder if she ever runs down ? My dear — ' 
I think they 're all here. Let 's plunge 
boldly in, and see if we can get a cup of 
tea for love or money. Come along! 



*5 



THE ROAD OF THE 
LOVING HEART 

Scene — Drawing-room at Mrs. Der- 

went's. 
Enter Mrs. Derwent and Alexander 

Walton. 

Mrs. Derwent 

Home again — home! I think I must be an 
abnormal sort of creature — for sometimes 
I hate home! The same old things crowd- 
ing you in, shutting out the sunshine, and 
looking at you with the same old eyes ! That 
squat bronze idol is always laughing at me. 
I 'd like to have a bonfire every week and 
burn up all my things. Hard on the in- 
surance companies — [Laughs.] I had n't 
thought of that. Well — things are always 
hard on somebody. 

[She sinks down on couch and plays 
with her gloves.'] 

27 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

Tragic — you say? Oh, no — not tragic — 
only tired. 

[She makes an effort and continues 
brightly.] 

How did you time your entrance so op- 
portunely? A moment later, or a moment 
earlier — and you would have missed me. 
Your guardian spirit — she 's still faithful, 
then? I suppose it is a " she " ? 

Where ? The Kimbals ? Oh, yes — I went. 
What — you were there, and just to see me? 
You must have come after I had gone. I 
hurried on to a reception somewhere — I Ve 
forgotten just where, took in two teas — and 
now — home again, for an hour before the 
night work begins. Why do I do it? Well 
— it seems to keep me from thinking. Chat- 
ter — chatter — chatter — automatic, you see. 
I 'd hate to hear a phonographic report of 
the things I say on a day like to-day. 

Yes, dear, I am tired. I only seem to find 
rest when your arms are around me — and 
yet, sometimes I think, Alex, that our meet- 
ing was the greatest misfortune that could 
have come to us. Please, dear, let me finish. 
If I M been born of your class . . . no, no, 
you can't change facts, Alex ; I was not — am 
28 



ROAD OF THE LOVING HEART 

not of your class. Then, there 's the past — 
[Passionately] — if one could kill and crush 
and forget the past — but one cannot. 

[She walks to and fro.] 

Your friends ask me about, and treat me 
politely — but why — because I am myself ? — 
Not at all — because the great Alexander 
Walton has told the world that he intends 
to make me his wife. You 've lifted me up, 
so far, Alex. [Quickly.] Ah, dear — I 
did n't mean to hurt you. . . . Come, we 
won't talk of me any more — what has ten 
day brought you, my Alex ? 

[Crosses to his chair and leans abape 
him.] 

What — really? More honors? Ah— 
Alex, you're climbing so high, and I'm 
away down here, trying to see up to you. >' 
Yes, I am jealous — jealous of your fame- 
jealous of your honors, because they are tak- 
ing you away from me. You have so much, 
love, and I have only you ! M With all you 
have, you can't make one woman happy? " 
Well, I suppose there are people born whose 
fate it is to see, to almost touch happiness, 
and yet never to reach it. You 've given me 
all the joy I Ve ever had— but to have made 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

me happy — you would have had to begin so 
far back — with my mother, perhaps. 

No — no — not that to-night — don't let us 
go over all that again to-night. It can't 
be yet — I cannot marry you while you 're in 
this fever of work — I 'd only distract and 
bother you. Not until you have time for 
me — well — perhaps that 's not a pretty way 
to put it — I mean that you can't serve two 
mistresses. After we 're married ? Well — 
I suppose your wife and your work will have 
to compromise. When she rules, I '11 slip 
away very quietly, and hide — but when I 
reign, I want her buried! [Clock strikes. ] 

Dear me ! so late ! I fear, Sir Alex, I must 
send you away. I 've only a moment left in 
which to dress, and I dine out. I 'm so sorry 
— yes, I know I 'm unsatisfactory — but din- 
ner waits for no man. . . . Good-night, my 
love. [She watches him out, and comes 

slowly back to couch.] 

I suppose it 's got to come ! There is no 
use running away from thoughts. You 
can't shut out the in-betweens, when the 
thoughts come crowding in. . . . What am 
I going to do? What am I going to do? 
Am I going to marry Alex, and be happy — 

30 



ROAD OF THE LOVING HEART 

at last? [Harshly. 1 Well — why not? Life 
owes me a little happiness — God knows I 've 
had none. [Softly.] And I can make him 
happy — I know I can ! I 'm playing with 
chances again — for there 's always the past. 
Wherever I look — -up or down — it 's there ! 
These women about me, with their good, 
untempted lives behind them, they thrust it 
at me — their suavest bows an insult! I 
suppose they call me — what is it ? — " a wo- 
man with a past." Alex's wife — a woman 
with a — And he, poor boy — the only one 
who knows the story — he will have none of 
my warnings. He thinks he can march on 
up, and carry me with him, my brave Alex. 
Well — he can't ! I and my past — we '11 
get in his way, and he '11 stumble on us. 
Then after a while he '11 wonder why he — 
No — no — Alex's happiness — his success — I 
must not — I will not tamper with them. In 
the old days, before I learned to think, I 
might have taken the chances. But I did n't 
love Alex then-— [Smiles] — it must have 
been before I was born ! I 've grown too big 
with love to drop back again. 

[Half rises from the couch.] 
Alex — you must go on alone, climbing 

3i 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

to your heights. I, with my burden, can't 
keep step, and so I must fall out. Ah, Alex, 
Alex, if you knew what it means to me — the 
long, lonely road without you ! But I choose 
it — I choose it, for your sake, my Alex. . . . 
The little bronze god and I — we must go 
on — laughing ! 

[Turns, half dazed, as if interrupted.] 
What is it — Marie — what is it? Ah — yes 
I had forgotten that I dine out ! 

[Gets up slowly, as if numb, and 
drags herself out.] 



3* 



WHAT THE JANITOR 
HEARD 

Scene — Public telephone-room, basement 
of the " Montclaire." 

Discovered — Mrs. Martin, waiting for her 
number. 

Enter Mrs. Northrup, hastily. 

Mrs. Northrup 

Good morning, Mrs. Martin ! You waiting 
to use the phone? Yes, is n ? t it a godsend? 
I could n't live without it ! I 'm in such a 
muddle — two unexpected guests to lunch — 
and Monday, and not a thing in the house 
to eat. I excused myself to go to the baby, 
and ran down here. Have you got two 
nickels for this dime? Thank you so much. 
[Takes down receiver while talking.] 
It's such a nuisance not to have nickels 

33 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

— Hello — is this the grocery? Oh, excuse 
me, Central — I forgot to look it up. 

[Hangs up receiver and gets down 
book,] 

Now was n't that bright ? I never can re- 
member numbers, can you? 

[Takes down receiver.] 

Hello — South 4032, please. Yes — 4032. 
[To Mrs. M.] They're always so stupid 
when you 're in a hurry. Hello — is this 
Brown's? I want to speak to Fred. Hello 
— is this Fred? This is Mrs. Northrup. I 
have unexpected guests to lunch, Fred, and 
I want you to send me some things at once. 
Well — I don't know, what have you got? 
How much are fresh mushrooms? How 
much — goodness! — send me canned. And 
— can of peas. How much are new potatoes ? 
No — that 's simply outrageous ! No, I don't 
want them at that price. [To Mrs. M.] 
Potatoes always seem ordinary to me, don't 
they to you ? Even if you do pay sixty-five 
cents for two or three. No — I 'm not talking 
to you, Fred. I want two boxes of straw- 
berries. I don't care how much they are. 
[To Mrs. M.] They always make an im- 
pression this time of year, don't you think 
so ? No, I 'm not talking to you, Fred. Six 

34 



WHAT THE JANITOR HEARD 

ripe tomatoes — pick me out nice ones, now. 
And, Fred, have the butcher send me eight 
lamb chops — extra nice. No — not to-day. 
I think that 's all. [Hangs up the receiver. ] 
I wonder if I Ve forgotten anything. Oh, 
dear — the salad! [Jerks down receiver.] 

Hello — Fred — No, Central, I want 
Brown's again. I did put a nickel in. An- 
other one ? Why, it 's perfectly outrageous 
— I shall certainly complain to the manager. 
No — I want — [To Mrs. M.] — Dear me — 
what was that number? Oh, yes, South 
4032 — thanks ! Hello — Fred — I want — 
well, call Fred to the phone, please, quickly. 
I forgot to order a head of lettuce, Fred. 
No, that 's all, I think. 

[Hangs up receiver.] 

I hope you '11 get your number, now, Mrs. 
Martin. 

[Starts to go out, then returns 
quickly.] 

Oh, would you mind waiting just a mo- 
ment longer? I forgot the butter, and we 
have n't a bit. So sorry to interrupt you — 
in a hurry too, are you ? How kind you are ! 
[Takes receiver down.] 

Hello — South 4032, please, quickly. An- 
other nickel? Well, I'm still talking to 

35 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

Brown's grocery. Well, I never heard of 
such a thing! Mrs. Martin — have you got 
another nickel ? Thank you so much. Here 
it is, Central. Hello — Brown's? I want 
Fred. Hello — Fred — a jar of butter, please, 
with my order. No, this is Mrs. Northrup. 
My things have gone ? Well, I '11 give a boy 
a quarter to bring it over at once. 

[Hangs up receiver and turns to 
Mrs. M.I 

Thank you, so much. What ? I 've taken 
all your nickels? Oh, what a shame — and 
I have n't a cent of change. Well, perhaps 
you could borrow it from the janitor. I 'm 
so sorry! [Looks after Mrs. M.] 

The idea of being so mean about five 
cents ! I never did like the woman, anyway ! 



ii 



Enter Mr. Reynolds. [Determination writ 
large in every feature. Takes down 
the receiver, scowling.] 



Hello — give me Harrison iooo. Nc 
iooo. Well, well, ten double nought, if you 

36 



WHAT THE JANITOR HEARD 

must. I don't care what you call it, if you 
give me the number. Hello — is this Har- 
rison 1000? Well, ring off — I don't want 
you. Hello — Central — what 's the matter 
with you people? I want ten double nought 
Harrison sometime before to-night. Hello 
— this is Reynolds. Yes, Reynolds, 225 
Lafayette Avenue, top flat. Now I 've writ- 
ten you and telephoned you as often as I 
intend to, about the steam heat in my flat. 
I Ve got a sick wife and small children, and 
I don't mean to have them freezing to death 
all the time. The thermometer has n't regis- 
tered above sixty for a week, and the janitor 
says he can't help it. Now, I 've put up with 
your damned shilly-shallying long enough — 
and either you get a man up here to-day 
to fix the pipes, or I '11 get out next week ! 
What's that? What? Not Smith? Who 
are you? Mme. Marion's Millinery — why 
the deuce did n't you say so ? Ring off. 

[Rings up Central vigorously.'] 
Hello — Central — you have now given 
me three wrong numbers. Will you try 
once more? [Sweetly.'] Harrison ten 
double nought. Yes — thank you. Is this 
Smith's? Who is this? Well, I want to 

37 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

speak to Smith. Where? Milwaukee for 
two weeks? Ring off! 

[Hangs up receiver, with a woeful 

smile, which ends in a word we 

can't repeat.] 



in 
Enter Mrs. Baldwin and Bobby, her son. 

Bobby speaks 

Oh, no — mamma, I want to ring him up. 
Yes, I can. Why can't I? Well, when 
you 've ringed him up, then can I talk to 
him. Why? Why do I have to be still? 
Now, can I? Now? 

[He puts his mouth to the receiver, 

then, as if in obedience to mother's 

correction, puts it to his ear.] 

Hello — papa. Bet you don't know who 

this am. No, 't'aint. [To mother.] He 

finks it 's you. No — 't'aint Mary — it 's me. 

Yes, I do hear you — it 's awful buzzy, 

though, in your ear, ain't it ? I 've been to 

the lake. Yep, an' made boats. Me an' little 

3* 



WHAT THE JANITOR HEARD 

Evans. No — little Evans — 1-i-t-t-l-e Evans. 
No, he has n't got any front name — jus' 
little Evans. My boat sankted. No-o, 
sankted in the water. [To mother.] No, I 
don't mean that; I mean sankted, mamma. 
Mamma interrupted me. Little Evans was 
awful bad. No, I was n't — jus' little Evans. 
He mos' pushed me right in the water. He 
was ist usgustus! No-o, I said usgustus. 
No, I don't, mamma. Mamma's talkin' to 
me again. I have to get down now, 'cause 
I 'm so heavy, mamma says. 

[Kisses him through the telephone.] 
Did you get that? Good-by, Pops. Come 
home soon. 



IV 



Enter Hulda, of unmistakably Swedish 
features. 

She drawls 

Hul-lo! Ya-as, de dochter leef here. 
Huh? No — he ees gone owut. Ya-as, I 
tank he coomin' back to launch. I don' 
know. Vat ees de name? Mrs. Vat? Hut- 

39 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

tie? No — I don' catch heem. Mrs. Huttle 
— vat? Oh, ya-as, Huddle — vat? Hamer — 
noo, Homer — Oh, ya-as, I got heem — Mrs. 
Huddleheimer. Vere you been livin' ? No-o 
— de nomber. Four hunert und t'irteen? 
No-o, ain't dat heem? Oh, ya-as, I got 
heem. Four hunert und t'irty-t'ree, Four- 
teen' Street. No-o? Oh, ya-as — Fourtieth 
Street. Ya-as, I got heem right now. Vat 
ees de matter of you? No — vat seeknesses 
you got? Oh, eet ees your leetle gurl, huh? 
Dip — no, I don't hear you. Dip — vat? I 
don' know dat vord. You better call de 
dochter up ven he coom in. No — I don 5 
know ven he will be in. Sometimes he vill 
be home before night, an' sometimes no-ot. 
I don' know. Ya-as, I tell heem. 

[Hangs up receiver.'] 
De stoopey ol* t'ing! — she can' talk de 
English good! 



40 



IN THE MERRY MONTH 
OF MAY 

Scene — On the street. 

Mrs. Marshall meets a friend. 

Mrs. Marshall 

Good morning, Mrs. Owen. Yes, it is a 
lovely morning, is n't it ? To tell you the 
truth, I had n't noticed it before, but you see 
I 'm in a state which precludes all attention 
to details like weather ! Oh, my dear — it 's 
worse than that — it 's house-hunting ! No, 
of course you did n't, because we only de- 
cided to move yesterday. I went to see our 
landlord about repairs, and I got so per- 
fectly furious at him, that I gave up our 
house on the spot. I do hate these people 
w r ho are always moving, but I tell you 
they 're the only ones who get things done 
for them — it 's the old tenants who get no 

4* 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

consideration— nor repairs! As I said to 
Dick this morning, we've outgrown the 
house anyway, and we certainly can't do 
worse! Just think of the houses that have 
everything built in — why, we don't know 
the meaning of modern improvements, and 
certainly our present landlord will never in- 
struct us. . . . Of course, Dick's awfully 
cross about it— men are such unprogressive 
creatures. Well— I must hurry along to 
that Intelligence Office, or whatever you call 
it. Thanks— I feel quite sure that I won't 
have any trouble. You see, I 've found out 
in the old house all the things that I do not 
want! Good-by, my dear. 



ii 



Scene — Real Estate Office. 
Mrs. Marshall enters briskly. Date- 
April 28th. 

Mrs. Marshall 

[Cheerfully and decisively.] Good morn- 
ing. I want to get a list of desirable houses 
42 



IN THE MERRY MONTH OF MAY 

to rent. I want to tell you exactly what I 
want, so that I will not have to waste any 
time looking at impossibilities. I want a 
twelve-room house, with steam heat, three 
bath-rooms, bookcases, sideboard, and ice- 
box built in. I want a house which gets the 
sun in all its windows, and I 'd like one with 
some ground about it. I prefer it on a boule- 
vard, and in a good neighborhood, of course. 
Oh, yes, I want it in a block where there are 
few children, and I want a stable. I do 
not wish to pay more than eighty dollars a 
month rent. You understand just what I 
want, do you ? Several that would suit me— ■ 
you say? Well, give me the list, please. As 
many as that — one — two — three — four- 
why — fifteen houses ! There must be a great 
number vacant this year. Going into apart- 
ments, you say? Well, I cannot understand 
how any self-respecting human being could 
live in one of those apartment buildings, just 
like cliff-dwellers ! I '11 go and look at these 
houses this morning. Much obliged to you. 
Yes, it is hot ! 



43 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

Scene — Real Estate Office. 
Five o'clock of the same day. Mrs. Mar- 
shall enters. 

Mrs. Marshall 

[With bubbling indignation.] I wish to see 
the young man who gave me this list of 
houses. Not here ? Well, do you expect him 
back to-night? Yes, it is important. I 
should like to ask him what he means by 
giving me such a list of impossibilities. 
Does he think that I have nothing to do but 
run around and look at such — such atroci- 
ties ? Here, I Ve been this whole day in 
the broiling sun, and I have n't seen a house 
I 'd even consider ! Now, I told him exactly 
what I wanted. It is n't as if I were one of 
those women who has no idea of what she 
wants. I know precisely, and I told him in 
plain English, and he said he could suit me 
perfectly. Do you mean to say that you 
consider these your best houses? Why, one 
of them actually had a tin-lined bath-tub! 
A big lawn ? Well, what of that — you can't 
bathe on the lawn! Other houses? — but do 

44 



IN THE MERRY MONTH OF MAY 

you realize that this is the 28th of April, and 
I have to move the first of May? I suppose 
I '11 have to come back in the morning — and 
I wish you would wait on me, please. I 
don't want anything more to do with that 
other young person. Owns the business, 
does he ? Well, he ought n't to — he 's utterly 
incompetent! Good afternoon. 

Scene — Real Estate Office. 

Mrs. Marshall enters. Date — "April 29th. 

Mrs. Marshall 

[Do-or-die tone.] Good morning. What 
have you for me this morning? This is a 
new list? Now, will you please tell me just 
what to expect. Sunlight — but no yard. 
Go on — steam heat, nice neighborhood — 
but only one bath — grounds, but nothing 
built in. Never mind about the rest — I '11 
go look at them. Better luck ? — well, I hope 
so! 



45 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

Same day — 5 p.m. 
Mrs. Marshall enters. 

Mrs. Marshall 

[Tragic] Yes, I 've been to them all ! I 've 
been through thirty-two houses in two days. 
Why people continue to build such ugly, in- 
convenient, unsatisfactory things, I cannot 
see. You have nothing more to suggest? 
You think I 've seen the best of them ? Very 
well — good evening. 

Scene — Real Estate Office. Date — April 30. 
Mrs. Marshall enters. 

Mrs. Marshall 

[With absolute humility.'] Good morning. 
What have you in — in a modern up-to-date 
apartment ? Yes, I did say that, but we 've 
got to go somewhere, and we Ve got to 
move to-morrow. Size? Anything from 
twelve rooms down to four. Rent? I don't 
care. My requirements? I haven't any. 
I '11 look at anything you think desirable. I 

46 



IN THE MERRY MONTH OF MAY 

must n't expect — what? To have the janitor 
built in! I consider that impertinent — sir! 
This is the list of your best flats? Very 
well — good morning. 



Same day — Noon. 
Mrs. Marshall enters. 

Mrs. Marshall 

[Despair.'] I 've seen them all. I liked two, 
but they would n't rent to me, because I 
had children and a parrot. We might give 
up the parrot, you know, but I can hardly 
be expected to part with my children! 



Scene — On the street. Date — May ist. 
Mrs. Marshall meets a friend. 

Mrs. Marshall 

[Beamingly.] How do you do, Mrs. Owen ! 
Was I smiling? Well — I 'm the happiest 
woman on earth — do you know we're not 
going to move, after all? I canvassed the 

47 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

ground pretty thoroughly, and decided that 
Dick was right for once — that it 's better 

to bear those ills we have 
Than fly to others that we know not of. 

So I induced poor old Dick to go to the 
landlord and say that I was a little hasty in 
my decision, and that we had decided to stay. 
It cost Dick fifty dollars to buy off the new 
tenant, but then, as I told him, it would have 
cost us more to move ! I find I 'm really 
quite attached to the old place — its faults 
endear it to me. And then, you know — I do 
so hate those people who " fold their tents 
like the Arabs and silently steal away " each 
year. Yes, do come and see me in my old — 
new house. Good-by. 



4 8 



SUBURBANITES 

Scene — Suburban train. 
Enter a very young person, who meets a 
friend. 

The Very Young Person 

Why, Betty Bardon, how do you do? 
Where on earth did you come from? I 
haven't seen you in ages. Is that so — 
boarding-school? Isn't that fine? Of 
course, you liked it? Everybody always 
likes boarding-school ? Me ? Oh, I 'm still 
at Miss Smithers' — I suppose I always shall 
be there. Like it ? I should say not — I sim- 
ply hate it. Why, that old woman, that Miss 
Smithers — she just spends her whole time 
making us girls miserable. I give you my 
word of honor that if a boy so much as puts 
his head around the corner of the street, she 
pulls down all the curtains. That 's a fact. 
Oh, I 'd just love to — but my father won't 

49 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

hear of it. He says he wants me right at 
home, where he can see that my studies don't 
interfere with my social duties. He — he — 
he ! — silly, is n't it ? He says he knows that 
if I went away to school — I 'd work myself 
into brain fever! I never saw you look so 
well, and that 's the sweetest hat you 've got 
on. Would you mind turning around ? Oh, 
it's lovely. Where do you get your hats? 
Do you, now? Why, I never was in there. 
I '11 just make mamma go in with me to- 
morrow. Hats are an awful bother, don't 
you think so? Of course, I never can have 
the kind I want; I always have to get these 
young-looking things — mamma makes me 
— but I tell you one thing — my spring suit 
is 'way down to the ground. Um-hum, I 've 
driven mamma to it at last. Why, it 's per- 
fectly disgraceful. There are plenty of girls 
in our school who have their clothes clear 
down to the ground when they 're only thir- 
teen years old, and here I am, almost sixteen, 
and mine up to my ankles. [Gasps.] Oh, 
there he is! 

[.Giggles, and claps hand over her 
mouth.'] 
Oh, fudge — I did n't mean to say that out 

50 



SUBURBANITES 

loud ! That 's just the trouble — I don't 
know who he is. I only know that he gets 
on my train in the morning, and he takes 
this train every afternoon. Oh, no — not 
that thing — I mean the third one, with the 
pink cheeks and the curly hair. Is n't he a 
stunner ? 

[Seizes friend by wrist y excitedly.'] 

You don't mean to say that you know 
him ? Well, call him over and introduce him 
— I 'm just dying to meet him ! Oh, well — 
never mind, you can explain when we get 
him here — Oh, go on — p-1-e-a-s-e ! Wait till 
he looks this way — now — he 's looking. 
[Sighs.] He saw us — he 's coming. Is n't 
he swell? [Nods and giggles.] 

How d' you do? [Giggle.] Yes, I've 
seen you before, too ! Yes, I always take this 
train. Yes [Giggle], I know you do — I 've 
seen you on it ! Is n't it funny we never have 
met before? I know lots of Manual Train- 
ing boys. Oh, yes, I know him, and Fred, 
and Dick Vaughan, I should say. I know 
all those fellows — awfully nice crowd, don't 
you think so? Sort of young, but awfully 
nice! What, Dick Vaughan — mercy! no — 
he 's just a baby — why, I 've known him 

5' 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

since he was that high — and he 's only about 
thirteen — Oh, he goes with lots of older fel- 
lows and all that, but — 

[Looks at conductor, who interrupts 
her.] 

What? Oh, ticket — now what did I do 
with my ticket? Did you notice whether I 
had a pocket-book or not, Betty ? Did n't 
I ? Well, maybe it 's in my book. 

[Shakes book.] 

No — well — you '11 have to punch my 
ticket twice to-morrow, conductor. [To 
boy.] Oh, now — please don't — thank you! 
I do have the awfullest time with my ticket. 
Of course, if I take my pocket-book, it 's all 
right, because, then it 's in my pocket-book, 
but if I don't, I usually put it in one of my 
school-books, and then if I don't bring the 
same book home that I took to school, why, 
there I am ! Why, sometimes I owe the con- 
ductor as much as five punches! Dear me! 
this is my station! Where did I put my 
other book? Would you mind moving, 
Betty? No — it is n't there. Oh, thank you. 
Did n't I have an umbrella ? I thought I 
did. [Calls.] I'm getting off here, con- 
ductor. Do come and see me while you 're 

52 



SUBURBANITES 

home. [To boy.] I — I [Giggle] I suppose 
I '11 see you in the morning. Good-by. 

ii 
Enter Mother and small boy, Martimas 

Mother 

Now hurry along, Martimas, hurry! 

[Lifts him into seat.] 

Now, you sit still and be a little gentle- 
man. [She looks about car, and back to 
Martimas.] 

Yes, we are going now. Yes, the engine 
is pulling us. What makes the engine go? 
Why — why — the engineer, dearie. Um-hum 
— the engineer. Turn around, Martimas, 
and let mamma tie your necktie. Now hold 
still. [She unties and ties his tie again.] 

Nonsense ! Now, I did n't pull it tight 
enough to hurt you. Scratch — what — your 
collar ? Where — here ? Oh, that does n't 
scratch much. I can't help it if it does — you 
have to wear a collar when you go to town. 
Because you do. Gentlemen always wear 
collars. I don't know why. Yes, that 's the 

53 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

lake. Um-hum — it 's very deep. No — not 
a million miles, but deep — quite deep. [In- 
dignantly.] Martimas — take your feet off 
my dress. Look at that, now. 

[Brushes herself vigorously.] 

Turn around and let me put your cap on 
straight. I never saw anything like the way 
you wear your cap. Now, let it alone. I 
don't care how the boys wear theirs — I want 
you to wear yours the way I put it on you. 
[Sharply.] Martimas — don't do that again 
— haven't you a handkerchief? Well — 
what have you two for ? [Laughs.] One for 
each nose? Well, you'd better use them 
both. That 's right, now put them back in 
your pocket. No, no — one in each pocket, 
silly. [Looks out the window.] 

No — this does n't seem to be a station. I 
suppose we 're slowing up to — to let off — 
smoke, or something or other. No, now — 

this window is just as good as that 

Well — my dear, if that is the only thing that 
will give you happiness — -go over there. 
But be careful. [She helps him across.] 

Martimas — oh, Martimas — come here to 
mamma — come here a moment. Put up 
your foot — I want to tuck your shoe strings 
in. I never saw such floppy things. Now, 

54 



SUBURBANITES 

you may go back. Careful — ah — I knew 
you 'd do that. Sh-sh — come here to me. 
Stop that noise — I never heard such yell- 
ing. Come here! 

[Takes him in her arms, and rocks to 
and fro.] 

There — there — where did um hurt um? 
Mamma kiss it — there — there. Look at that 
little baby staring at you — ain't you 
'shamed? Now, you turn round here at 
your own window. Yes — yes, I see — it 's a 
freight-car. I don't know what 's in it — I 
expect coal — or cows. Oh, is n't it a coal- 
car ? Well — it must be something else, then. 
Yes, that's steam — Martimas, you do ask 
such silly questions ! I don't know anything 
about steam or cars or cows or coal! You 
ask papa when he comes home. He '11 
know. . . . Now, what are you going to do. 
Do sit still like a gentleman. What? Oh — 
the baby. Is n't it cute? 

[Wiggles hand at baby across the 
aisle, in the usual asinine manner 
for attracting a baby's attention.'] 

How do — baby — how do! [To M.] 
Is n't that cunning? Did you see that smile? 
What — you want to kiss that baby? Well, 
I don't know whether its mamma will let 

55 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

you or not. You might go and ask her. 
But do be careful now. We don't want you 
falling down again. 

[Helps him across, then claps her 
hands and calls him back.] 
Why, Martimas, what do you mean by 
grabbing that little baby by the top of the 
head ? Of course it 's soft there — all babies 
are like that. Well, because they are — I 
don't know why. No, your head is n't, be- 
cause you 're not a baby. No, mine is n't, 
because I 'm grown up. Papa's ? — well — I 
sometimes think that papa's is a little soft 
yet. This is our station. Now, don't stop 
to ask questions. Come along. 

[Drags him off, finally picks him up, 
and runs off.] 



in 



Enter an up-to-date girl. She is joined by 
Mr. Atwood 

She speaks 

Good morning, Mr. Atwood. Won't you 
join me? And how do you fare this perfect 

56 



SUBURBANITES 

day? Yes, it certainly is charming. You 
know, I think weather is the only thing I 'm 
conservative about — I 'm all for extremes 
in everything else. You think so? Women 
are more apt to be extremists than men — 
you say? Well — perhaps, I never thought 
of it. Of course, you men are so overbur- 
dened with logic, reason, and all such draw- 
backs. Now we women just jump at our 
conclusions and sense the in-betweens, while 
you poor plodders are conscientiously ex- 
ploring! No — no — I disagree with you — I 
think nine times out of ten we arrive at the 
same conclusions, and you must admit— our 
method is shorter. 

[Leans over and bows to woman who 
passes. ,] 
Why, how do you do, Mrs. Stearns? I 
did n't see you. Thank you — I am hoping 
to, soon. [To Mr. A.] Has she been sit- 
ting there all the time? How stupid of me 
not to have seen her! Do I like her? Yes, 
immensely. She 's so frankly detestable. 
Most women are, you know — but not 
frankly. She says more nasty things in a 
minute than you can repeat in an hour, and 
yet she never seems to have any malice. A 

57 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

keen eye for human failings, and a sharp 
tongue for summing them up— and it 's all 
done in the sort of impersonal attitude of 
the historian, don't you know. Oh, she's 
clever. No, no — men don't like her — she 's 
too smart. Well, that 's what I mean. I 
don't think men do like clever women. They 
like them in books, but they're afraid of 
them in the flesh. 

Oh, well, of course women like clever 
men — but, then, women like men to be their 
equals — and you men — you like a woman 
to be — on the next lower mental plane! 
Did that man call Elmswood ? I 'm off at 
the next station. Yes, I 'm going to the 
club to play golf. I go round every day now 
with a professional. Getting ready for the 
tournament, you know. We take our games 
so seriously these days, don't you think we 
do? I always seem to be getting ready for 
a match, or getting over a match, and it 's 
a maximum of hard work and a minimum of 
pleasure, and of course I would n't do it if 
I were n't such an odious old peacock, thirst- 
ing for success at things ! Well, here we are ! 
I 'm glad to have seen you. Thanks, I '11 
work very hard, and pray for luck. What 
more can mortal do? 

58 



SUBURBANITES 

IV 

Enter Maggie Doogan and Annie O'Brien 

Maggie 

Now, hurry roight alang, Annie O'Brien, 
an 5 take the furst seat ye come to. Here ye 
are! [Drops into seat and gets up again 
quickly.] 

I beg your pardon, sor ! I did n't see ye 
git down furst. I hope oi did n't hu-urt ye, 
sor? Well, that's good. [Aside.] I 'most 
squashed 'im. Here ye are now, Annie — 
sit down. I don't want to sit down — I 
would n't sit down if I could — I 'd rather 
sit down standin' oop ! I '11 grab onto one of 
these hoops ! [She steadies herself by loop.] 

Ut 's awful crowded this toime a night — 
ain't ut — Annie? Sure t'ing. Yis — I bin out 
all day — ut 's my day out. I bought me a 
oolster, Annie, silk lined and fancy trimmed 
— ah — ut was a swill t'ing. Eight dollars 
and t'irty-eight cints — would ye belave ut? 
Oh — ut 's a swill t'ing ! No — ain't so tired — 
I would n't be tired at all if ut was n't that 
I 'm wearin' the mistress's ould boots, an' 

59 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

they nearly kill me fate ! — An' where 're ye 
livin' now, Annie ? Are ye ? An' d' ye loike 
the place? [Utter surprise and horror.] 
Ye don't tell me ? She won't let you play 
the coronet? Why, what d' ye shtay for, 
Annie? I would n't shtay a minute with a 
woman that would not let me play the coro- 
net ! Why don't you bring 'er up before the 
Union ? Ah, yis — I got a noice place — 'mos' 
suits me! But I sez to her before I wint 
there — I sez, " Now, I want one hour on 
the mornin' to practise music, and one hour 
after lunch to take me nap. The butler 's got 
to be Irish, so 's we '11 be conjaynial, an'," I 
sez, " if I want a few f rinds in now an' thin 
for dinner, I don't want no kick coomin', 
see ? " An' she sez to me — she sez, " Would 
ye moind if me an' the family just stopped 
in the house while ye 're with us ? " An' I 
sez, " I don't moind at all — at all," I sez. 
" But if ye promise me these things an' don't 
do um," I sez, " I '11 have ye up before 
the Union, an' ye '11 sit in the kitchen an' 
whistle for a cook," I sez. An' she knows 
I wuz tellin' her the truth. I had her coomin' 
all roight — all roight. She 's meek as a 
lamb, Annie — she never peeps ! I tell ye all 
6o 



SUBURBANITES 

ye got to do is to make up yer moind to 
yer roights an' larn to handle the upper 
classes, an' ut 's aisy — ut 's aisy ! By Gar — 
this is my station. Come round an' see me, 
Annie — come round an' see me an' the but- 
ler. So long — Annie — so long! 



61 



THEIR LAST RIDE 
TOGETHER 

Scene — Country road, with village in the 
distance. 

Discovered — A man and a woman in an au- 
tomobile. 

She speaks 

Oh, it is ideal— the softest air, and the bluest 
sky — and the yellowest fields ! Well, but you 
would see them, if you 'd just look at them ! 
I feel like flying on a day like this, and this 
dear old machine is almost as good as wings ! 
God bless the man who invented automo- 
biles. [She leans out, and laughs softly.] 
Oh, see — stop a minute — slow up. See 
him — the yellow lizard on the rock? [To 
lizard.] How do you do, sir? [Laughs.] 
See him wriggle — that 's the way he bows. 
I see it now — I see it all — that 's what I was 
— last incarnation. A beautiful, yellow- 

63 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

green lizard, with nothing on earth to do 
all day long but sun myself on a warm rock. 
No brain — no thoughts — no responsibilities 
— just food and sleep. Idyllic! You don't 
like my lizard idea, I take it? [Sighs.] 
You 're such an unappreciative creature. 
Do I do you an injustice? Well, I '11 amend 
it and say — your appreciative powers are 
strictly limited. [Hums softly.] 

"Alas! that Spring should vanish with the Rose — " 

[Breaks off with deep sigh, in answer 
to his remark.] 

Oh, dear me! now there you go. Art, 
literature, science, trees, lizards — all roads, 
with you, lead back to — love! Why — why 
will you always hark back to that tabooed 
subject? [Crossly.] I have no patience 
with a man who has but one idea, and pre- 
sents it to you every time he opens his 
mouth! What sort of man do I like? 
W-e-1-1, I can't tell you exactly — I can't 
give you a list of required virtues, any more 
than I can tell you just how to make fudges 
— but I can make them. I sort of — feel 
64 



THEIR LAST RIDE TOGETHER 

what ought to go in. Oh, you are incorri- 
gible. You harry an idea to the very top- 
most branches — I — I — Oh, I don't know. 
It ? s such a silly conversation ! [Desper- 
ately.] I just wish I 'd been one of those 
Sabine women — snatched up and carried off 
willy-nilly, with no time to weigh this man 
with that — and choose. I 'd love being car- 
ried off and conquered in spite of myself. 
Then I could fight until the last flag went 
down, and live peacefully ever after. 

[Turns to look at him quickly, then 
laughs.] 
You? How could you? Would you kid- 
nap me in the dark, and carry me off in a 
hansom cab? How would you go about it? 
Alas — and alack — we have to go to 
" Richard Carvel " and " To Have and to 
Hold " for our romance in these lack-luster 
days! [Hums again lightly.] 

" The nightingale that in the branches sang — 
Ah, whence and whither flown again who 
knows ?" 

[Looks at man, then at machine, then 
up the road toward the town they 
are approaching.] 

65 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

What are you doing? [Seriously. ,] What 
ar^ you doing? Don't you see we 're coming 
to a town ? Well, slow up — we 're going at 
a dreadful rate. [Anxiously. ] What is it? 
Is there anything the matter with the 
thing? [Excitedly.] Why don't you do 
something! Oh — oh — is it running away? 
[Turns to him in utter amazement 
and annoyance.] 
Marry you ? Certainly not ! I think you 'd 
better give your entire attention to the ma- 
chine and let matrimony alone. 

[The girl begins to look terrified.] 
We 're going faster and faster. We '11 be 
killed if we go through that town at this 
rate! Well, / don't want to be killed with 
you or anybody else ! Oh, see — there 's 
somebody on the road! 

[She half rises and calls.] 

Look out — oh, man — look out — we can't 

stop this thing! [Turns to man beside her.] 

I command you to stop! If you can't, 

I 'm going to jump. Don't touch me! Oh, 

heavens, we 're in the town now. 

[She looks about her, as if they were 
going at high speed.] 
66 



THEIR LAST RIDE TOGETHER 

[Calls.] Look out, little boy — do you 
want to get run over— 

[Hangs out of auto and calls back to 
him the rest of her sentence.] 
— you silly little idiot! 

[To man beside her.] 
Just look at the crowd after us. Oh — I 
hate you! And a policeman — 

[She starts up suddenly, her eyes 
wide with terror, and points 
straight ahead.] 
Look — look — we 're going toward the 
river. [Horror.] Oh — oh! 

[Turns to him quickly.] 
Marry you — oh, yes, yes — if you could 
only stop this infernal machine. Any time 
— now — here — wherever you say — only just 
stop it. Yes, I love you, with all my heart 
and soul — but if you don't hurry up, I won't 
love you long! 

[As auto begins to slow up she sits 
with her hands over her eyes, 
catching her breath painfully. The 
machine stops with a jerk, and she 
looks up, turns to man, and breaks 
out angrily.] 

6 7 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

Do you mean to say that you could have 
stopped it as easily as that at any time ? 

[Looks ahead. ] 

And — and there is a bridge. You knew 
there was a bridge! [Rises.] 

Going ? I 'm going home by the train. I 
don't care what you think, I 'm going on the 
train. [She jumps out.] 

[Superbly.] I certainly do not consider 
myself engaged to you — you wrung my con- 
sent from me under false pretenses. I beg 
your pardon, I did not say that at all — I said 
that if I had been one of those Sabine wo- 
men, no doubt I 'd have liked being carried 
off. Of course, having no sense of humor, 
you misunderstood me. I bid you a very 
good afternoon — a. very good afternoon. 



68 



WHEN SHADES 
ASSEMBLE 

Scene — The After-World. 

Enter Lady Macbeth and Portia. 

Lady Macbeth 

Good-morrow, Lady Portia, Cato's 

daughter, 
Wife of that Brutus who did slay great 

Csesar — 
Why stalk you here among the shades alone? 

Portia 

Such words as slayer sound but ill, me- 

thinks, 
Upon the lips of guilty Cawdor's wife. 
My Brutus was a martyr, who did read 
Signs of the times, which others dared not 

see — 

69 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

The blood he shed, was shed in duty's name ! 
So say not slayer's wife again to me, 
Thou who didst lure beneath thy roof 
King Duncan, and with thy two blood- 
stained hands 
Didst, with thy husband's aid and foul con- 
nivance, 
Kill, stab, and murder there thy king ! 

Lady Macbeth [hastily] 

Enough — enough, fair Portia, this 

sufficeth — 
Our husbands may have had their little 

faults, 
No doubt we had our little vices too. 
But here among the shades, where friends 

are few, 
Let us not waste the hours in angry speech, 
But join our forces, that we may not be 
Dependent for all social intercourse 
Upon Ophelia and that youngster Juliet ! 

Portia 
Who even now approach from out the dusk ! 

Enter Juliet and Ophelia 
70 



WHEN SHADES ASSEMBLE 

Juliet 

Dear me, Ophelia, but this life is slow ! 
Why, when I lived at fair Verona's court, 
My every day was filled with gracious sport ! 
Can I forget that ball my father gave, 
When first I set my eyes on Romeo ! 

Lady Macbeth [aside] 

Methinks that we have heard that tale 
before ! 

Ophelia [softly] 

Beware — there 's Cawdor's dame, who gos- 
sips so. 

" Lord, we know what we are — but know 
not what we may be! " [Sings.] 

How should I my true love know — 

From another one? 
By his cockle hat and staff — 

And his sandal shoon! 

Portia 



Ophelia — my dear — know you no other 
7* 



songs ? 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

Ophelia 
Alas — sweet lady — and alas — alack ! 

Juliet 

Why, at Verona's court the troubadours 
Were wont to dedicate their songs to me! 

Lady Macbeth 
Alas, we can't escape Verona's court! 

Juliet [angrily] 

Dost think we 'd rather hear of Cawdor's 

house, 
And Duncan's death, and see you wash 

your hands, 
And hear your thrilly speeches about blood ? 
Not I — for one — nor mad Ophelia here. 
I 'd rather sit and hear Ophelia sing, 
And that 's not very cheerful, you '11 admit! 

Lady Macbeth [indignantly'] 

Thou impudentest child among the shades — 
The raven himself is hoarse that can out- 
croak you ! 

72 



WHEN SHADES ASSEMBLE 

Chastise the valor of thy saucy tongue — 
Begone about thy business — get thee hence ! 

Portia [sweetly] 

Be not impatient with the child, my lady — 
She 's young yet, and, poor soul, she died 
for love! 

Juliet 

Yes, and I 'm sorry I was such a fool ! 
Oh, why did I not wed the Count of Paris, 
Instead of joining Romeo in the tomb? 

Portia 
But Romeo loves thee still ? 

Juliet 

Yes, Romeo does ! Why, at the time when 

all 
The heroes are let in to spend the day 
With their lost wives and loves, what think 

ye then, 
This Romeo does? 

6 

73 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

Lady Macbeth 
Well— what doth he? 

Juliet 
He sits all day and holds Ophelia's hand ! 

Ophelia [softly] 

How shall I thy true love know, 

From another one? 
Tra-la-la-la-la-la-la 

Juliet 

The Montagues were ever fickle loves. 
I care not that he pays Ophelia court, 
But this is hard, that I must have Lord 

Hamlet 
" Be-ing — or not to be-ing " at my side, 
Discoursing on Man's Capability, 

And talking ghosts until my very spine 
Is chilled and every hair doth rise 

" Like quills upon the fretful porcupine ! " 

74 



WHEN SHADES ASSEMBLE 

Lady Macbeth 

How dare you use a speech that 's not your 
own? 

Ophelia 

Oh, I 'm so glad he doth speak thus with 

thee — 
For I was ever much afeared of him. 
He said to get me to a nunnery — 

" Oh, woe is me — 
To have seen what I have seen — see what 
I see!" 

He is dead and gone, lady — 
He is dead and gone. 

Juliet 
Methinks Ophelia is a simple thing! 

Lady Macbeth [ruefully] 

I would sometimes I could escape my 

Thane, 
The days he is allowed to visit me. 
I grow aweary of reiteration — 
That bickering outworn phrase, " I told 

you so." 

75 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

Portia 

Children, dear lady, ours the fate has been 
For centuries to face the lime-light's glare; 
And in the world of mortals still the 

young 
Do play at Juliet's and Ophelia's parts — 
And murder worse than that of Cawdor's 

Thane 
Is yearly done upon our splendid lines ! 
Yet, spite of this, we ever do remain 
Heroes and heroines of classic lore! 
What matter, then, if in this dim beyond 
Some private woes and family bickerings 
Do mar the tenor of our even ways? 
This is the penalty we pay for fame, — 
A fame which even elocutionists 
Have failed to ruin and entirely mar, — 
A fame which, though the idol-shattering 

world may try, 
It cannot rob us of — it needs us still. 
So, ladies, let 's in silence bear 
The wounds of private life, and let us turn 
A smiling face unto the shades without ! 



7 6 



OVER THE COFFEE-CUPS 

S cene — Breakfast-table. 

Discovered — Mrs. Meek, waiting breakfast 

for her better half. 
Enter Mr. Meek, looking the worse for 

wear. 

Mr. Meek 

' Mornin' — 'Lizabuth. [ Crossly. ] James, 
why was n't I called for breakfast ? Harris 
thought I wanted to sleep? Well, Harris 
is n't hired to think — he 's hired to carry out 
my orders. Hurry up with things — I 've 
an engagement. 

[Opening and glancing over paper.] 
My dear — I make it a point not to know 
what time I get in. Four o'clock ? — I don't 
doubt it! It was so thoughtful of you to 
stay awake and keep track of the time. Soft- 
boiled eggs — ugh ! — take them away — don't 
you dare put the things in front of me. 

77 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

Aren't we ever to have anything but eggs 
for breakfast ? I 'd gladly exterminate the 
whole kingdom of egg-producing animals. 
Get me a chop, James, and be quick about it. 

[Tries paper again, but puts it down 
at Mrs. Meek's sigh.] 
Is there anything particular the matter 
with you this morning, my dear? You cer- 
tainly would depress a grave-digger. I tell 
you a man has a right to demand a cheerful 
face at the breakfast-table. Me? I am 
cheerful. I came down in the best of hu- 
mors, ready to make myself agreeable, and 
your first remark put me on edge for the day. 
Have n't made any remark ? Well — it must 
have been your expression, then — it was 
something. 

[Looks at paper a minute, then 

throws it down.] 

Can't you talk a little — or is it against the 

rules? Oh, mamma is coming, is she? 

That '11 be nice. When does she arrive ? 

To-day? Sorry I can't be home to dinner. 

Ring the bell, will you? What is that man 

doing? James, has the cook gone for the 

chop ? Well — Lhope so. Bring me a bromo- 

seltzer. Ah — is this the chop? [Tries it.] 

78 



OVER THE COFFEE-CUPS 

Tough — tough — I can't eat it. No, I 
don't want it — I don't want anything — I '11 
get something down town. Mme. Despair, 
I leave you to enjoy your miseries. Tell 
mamma about them; she'll sympathize, no 
doubt. Ta-ta! [Exit.] 

ii 

Scene — Same. 

Discovered — Mrs. Tenbrook, looking 
squally. 

Enter Mr. Tenbrook, with affable and in- 
gratiating manner. 

Mrs. Tenbrook 

[In tone between tears and indigna- 
tion.'] 
Good morning. Yes, you may bring in 
the breakfast now, Jane. I suppose it 's as 
cold as a brick. [To Mr. T.] A good many 
people told me that matrimony was n't all 
smooth sailing, and I thought I was pre- 
pared for anything — I 'm sure the night be- 
fore I was married I read a whole book of 
quotations about marriage not being a path 
of roses, but I never supposed that, after 

79 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

only three years, you ? d get in at such an 
hour as you did last night, and then throw 
epithets and things at me, when I came in 
to see if you wanted any breakfast. It 's 
very strange you thought it was your man, 
when I came clear into the room and spoke 
to you. There was a time when you would 
have known my voice. . . . 

[Silence — then she begins again.] 

I try so hard to be reasonable. It just 
takes all my self-control not to ask where 
you went last night — but I won't ask — not 
at all. Whatever suspicions I may have, I 
will be silent. Oh, I can be silent if there 
is any necessity — I 'm not like you, I have 
my tongue under perfect control. ... I 
don't see why you can't be amusing at the 
breakfast-table, when you 've been frisking 
about all night, goodness knows where, hav- 
ing a good time. What is it Emerson says 
about a cheerful face at the breakfast-table? 
No — that is not from my book of quota- 
tions. . . . 

Such a night! Every board in the house 
creaked — and there was a mouse some- 
where, and such noises outside. Every time 
I was just dropping off, I thought I heard 
your latch-key squeak. Bad habit — waiting 
80 



OVER THE COFFEE-CUPS 

up ? I suppose it is, but, like some of yours, 
it 's hard to break. I 'm sure my father 
never got in at any such hour as you did last 
night. Well, my mother never had any oc- 
casion to " row " at him, as you elegantly 
express it. Yes, she was a model — but bear 
in mind she had a model husband. I 'm just 
like mother, though ; I '11 do anything on 
earth to avoid trouble. I can't bear women 
who nag. My motto is patient endurance. 
Through ? You have n't eaten a thing. I 
should n't think you would be hungry, after 
what you probably had last night. 

'[Lifts a martyred cheek for his part- 
ing kiss.] 
Good-by. [Watches him out.] What 
martyrs — what blessed, silent, unappreci- 
ated martyrs we women are! 

in 

Scene — Same. 

Discovered — Mr. and Mrs. Kendal, and 

Arthur Kendal. 
Enter Carol Kendal. 

Carol 

Good mornin', motherdie — morning dad- 
laddie. What 's the joke? What were you 
81 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

laughing at? Oh, the Guardian of the 
Hearth again ? What 's she done now ? 
Served pudding for breakfast? What — 
eggs in tea-cups ? Oh, lovely ! And nothing 
else? Ah, I see — eggs simply — "a sign of 
things that are not, and a promise of things 
hoped for." Well, we have to admit that 
Time himself is a flier beside this cook. 
Yes, mother dear, she is thorough and good- 
natured, but even you must grant that break- 
fast begun at seven and finished at eleven is 
a strain ! . . . Mother, you 'd find virtue in 
— a — a — pumpkin. 

What 's the news, dad ? Wait — let me 
guess. First column — shootings and hold- 
ups — (2) somebody declares war — (3) 
scandal in social circles — (4) article on 
Trusts. Three out of four right — huh? 
Laddie — I 'm coming to town to-day. I '11 
do myself the honor of lunching with you — 
thanks. What — broke — really ? Well, 
never mind — I '11 take you! Dad — you 're 
invited — strictly Dutch treat. 

{Hand to ear.] 

Cheer up, friends, I hear a movement in 
the kitchen. Perchance the coffee is ap- 
proaching. No- — false alarm. Now, don't 
82 



OVER THE COFFEE-CUPS 

let it ruffle you, father. Pin your mind to 
the virtues mother 's ferreted out — she 's 
thorough and clean. Cleanliness has always 
seemed a bit negative to me — but they do 
say it 's next to godliness. Ah — here we are 
at last. Let every man fall to. There 's 
nothing like this period of preparation — 
trains the temper — induces patience — whets 
the appetite. There 's the postman's ring 
— I '11 go. [Dashes off, and back.] 

Everybody gets a letter. Oh, must you 
go so soon, dad? Bother the train — you 
are n't half through your breakfast. 

[Calls after.] 

Dad — mother says, " Wear your ulster." 
Weather man says, " Colder." 

Meet you boys at one o'clock. Good-by. 
[Opens letters , singing.] 

" There were two jolly gentlemen, 
Who went away to sea — " 

Nice boys, are n't they, mother? Well, 
dear, if I 'm to take a noon train — to work 
— to work, says the " little red hen." 



S3 



FROM LONG AGO 
TO NOW 

THEN 

Scene — Miss Angelina's Drawing-room. 
Enter Reginald 

Reginald 

Miss Angelina, how good you are to see 
me! 

Angelina 

[Shyly.] Am I? No— but I ? m not— for 
I wanted to see you. 

Reginald 
[Regretfully.] I — I am so unworthy! 

Angelina 



I don't quite understand 

85 



• • • 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

Reginald 
[Mysteriously.] No — of course not! 

Angelina 

[Nervously.] Will you — will you let me 
make you a cup of tea? 

Reginald 

[Effusively.] How heavenly kind you 
are! 

Angelina 
Strong or weak? 

Reginald 
[Absently.] Both. 

Angelina 
[Surprised. ] What ? 

Reginald 

Oh, I mean — either. 
86 



FROM LONG AGO TO NOW 

Angelina 
Sugar ? 

Reginald 
It needs none — your hands have made it! 

Angelina 
[Coyly.] Oh— 

Reginald 

[Bursts out.] Miss Warring — Angelina 
— I have something on my mind. 

Angelina 

[Horrified.] Have you? Oh, I'm so 
sorry ! Won't you take a caraway cake ? I 
think they are good when you have a — a — 

Reginald 

[Tragically.] Miss Warring — Angelina 
— what do you think of love? 

87 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

Angelina 

[Bezvildered. ] I — oh — Mr. Reginald — 
I think some one is calling me. 

Reginald 

[Seizes her arm.] No — stay, Angelina — 
don't leave me yet. Let me unburden my 
mind. What do you think of love? 

Angelina 

[With bent head.] Oh, Mr. Reginald — 
I don't know. I think it must be very 
pleasant. 

Reginald 

Pleasant? Angelina — Love is a fiery fur- 
nace that consumes, burns, tortures — kills! 

Angelina 
[Terrified.] Oh, no — Mr. Reginald! 

Reginald 

I know, Angelina, for I burn — and die! 
88 



FROM LONG AGO TO NOW 

Angelina 
What shall I do? Shall I call mother? 

Reginald 

Mother? No! None can help me save 
one, and she is so far above me that I dare 
not aspire to even gaze upon her ! 

Angelina 
[Plucking up courage.] Is she fair? 

Reginald 

[Rapturously.] Fair? She is so fair that 
she dazzles and blinds her slaves! 

Angelina 
Does she know you love her ? 

Reginald 

Can she be ignorant, when love is writ 
large in every feature? 

8 9 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

Angelina 
And yet she does n't love you ? 

Reginald 
Love me? Impossible! 

Angelina 

Then she must be a horrid thing ! [ With 
air of wisdom .] Men were made to love 
women, and women were made to love men, 
and if they pretend they don't — why, they 're 
■ — they 're — 

Reginald 

I 'm sure of it. If I thought there was 
hope — 

Angelina 
Why don't you ask her? 

Reginald 

I dare not. 

90 



FROM LONG AGO TO NOW 

Angelina 
What 's her name ? I '11 ask her for you. 

Reginald 

You? Angel — her name is Angelina 
Warring ! 

Angelina 

[Overcome.] Me? I 'm the angel — Oh, 
Mr. Reginald — 

Reginald 

[At her feet.] Ah — I know I am not 
worthy to sit at your feet, Angelina — but 
love makes me bold. Could you intrust 
your life to me — do you love me? 

Angelina 

[Half crying.] I — I don't know — I — 
[Hides her face.] Oh, dear me — I think I 
do! 

9i 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

Reginald 

Angelina ! — I shall build a shrine for you, 
my Queen, and worship at your feet all the 
days of my life ! 

Angelina 

I 'm so glad you love me. Did you ever 
love any one else? 

Reginald 
No — Angel ! [Takes her in his arms.] 

Angelina 

I don't see why you did n't think love was 
pleasant, Reginald. I think it 's just — 
sweet ! 

Reginald 

ANGEL! ! ! 

92 



FROM LONG AGO TO NOW 

NOW 

Scene — Porch of a club-house. 

Enter Joan Dascott and Billy Norton. 

Joan 

That was a good two-step, Billy, and this 
is a good night. Let 's sit here a moment. 
My dear fellow, you 're puffing — you 're get- 
ting too old to dance! 

Billy 

[Indignantly.] Puffing — your grand- 
mother ! 

Joan 

We 'd better go back. Music, they say, 
hath charms to soothe the savage — Do sit 
down and stop pacing — it makes me tired to 
watch you ! 

Billy 

Truth is, Joan, I Ve something on my 
mind! 

93 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

Joan 
On your— WHAT? 

Billy 

This may be a joke to you — but it 's dead 
earnest to me ! 

Joan 
What are you driving at ? 

Billy 

Fact is — I want to talk to you seriously — 
Joan — 

Joan 

[Laughs.] Seriously? All right, Billy; 
fire away. 

Billy 

[Uncomfortably.] You know, Joan, I 'm 
not much on love — 

94 



FROM LONG AGO TO NOV/ 

Joan 

Well, there 's nothing serious in that. 
It 's only when you are much on love — or in 
it— 

Billy 
Don't chaff me — I 'm in earnest. 

Joan 
'Pologize! 

Billy 

I say, I 'm not very long on love patter 
and all that, but I 've found the girl for me, 
all right — and — 

Joan 

[Shortly.] Well, you 're in luck. What 
more do you want? 

Billy 

I want you to advise me, old lady. Truth 
is, I don't think she has much use for me. 

95 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

Joan 
What makes you think so? 

Billy 
Well — I don't know. I just think so. 

Joan 
Why don't you brace up, and ask her like 
Billy 



a man? 



I sort of dread to, for fear she '11 turn me 
down and not let me see her any more. 

Joan 

I see — you prefer a miserable possibility 
to a miserable certainty. 

Billy 

[Earnestly,'] Do you think I 'd have any 
chance with a girl, Joan? 
9 6 



FROM LONG AGO TO NOW 

Joan 
Depends on the girl. 

Billy 

[Desperately.] I don't see how I could 
stand much show. 

Joan 

Modest Flower! who is your iceberg 2 
Billy? 

Billy 

Why, it 's— it 's you, you know. 

Joan 

Me ? Oh, great Doodle, what are you talk- 
ing about ? 

Billy 
It 's gospel, Joan ; it 's always been you. 

Joan 

Is this a moon-spell? Do you have these 
fits often? 

97 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

Billy 
'T ain't a fit — 't is chronic. 

Joan 
You ought to see a specialist about it. 

Billy 
That 's why I 've come to you. 

Joan 

Well, I can't take your case — the chronic 
ward is full! 

Billy 

Don't joke about it, Joan — I 'm in dead 
earnest. Do you think you could ever care 
anything about me, dear? 

Joan 

I don't know whether I care or not — I 
never have thought anything about it. 

98 



FROM LONG AGO TO NOW 

Billy 

Well, could you — could you take a little 
time to think about it? 

Joan 

Well — I — go on in and dance this. I 'm 
going to stay here. Don't talk, Billy — just 
go. Tell Jack Gardner that I 've gone home, 
if he asks for me. 

[Half an hour later.] 

Billy 

Still here — Joan? A penny for your — 

Joan 

I 've been thinking it over, Billy. I sup- 
pose I Ve always cared a good deal, and 
did n't know it. Then it 's an advantage 
that we know each other so well. And — I 
was thinking that if we got married, we 
might go into the American Golf Champion- 
ship together down at Lenox this year. 

99 
LofC. 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

Billy 
Then it 's yes, Joan? 

Joan 
Um-hum. 

Billy 

God bless you ! — I hope we '11 have good 
luck, old lady. 

Joan 

In the Championship? 

Billy 
[Smiling.] In the Championship! 



ioo 



THE FIRST LESSON 

Scene — Country-club grounds. 

» 

They stroll toward the first tee 

She speaks 

Well, of course I Ve got to learn. For 
two years I Ve held the championship for 
the only frivolous female under fifty who 
cannot play golf — and I 'm getting tired of 
it. You 're under such a disadvantage if 
you don't speak the language, you know. 
Why, I 've been to dinners when the conver- 
sation might just as well have been in an- 
cient Patagonian, as far as I was concerned. 
Well, there are several reasons, — in the first 
place, everybody went wild on the subject, 
and the easiest and most original attitude 
was ignorance. And I 'm ignorant enough 

IOI 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

— I 've never even followed around a course. 
Oh, that 's where we get the caddy, is n't it? 
You see, I do know that the caddy is a boy, 
and not one of the sticks — oh, clubs, I 
mean. Why do you have to have such a lot 
of sticks — clubs, I mean ? Oh, different ones 
for different plays. Now, they look just 
alike to me — except some are fatter than the 
others. This is the starting-place, is n't it ? 
Where the crowd is — teeing-ground, you 
call it ? There 's a man going to — what do 
you call it — tee? Let's go closer so I can 
see him do it. What 's the little hump of 
dirt for ? Oh — I see. I should n't think 
you 'd need that ; it looks easy enough. 

[Follows man's motions carefully, 

her eye following the ball into the 

distance.'] 

Oh-h, he's pretty good, isn't he? Oh — 

is he a dub? Why, I thought he was good. 

Now, here goes a girl — let 's see her tee 

away. What did I say ? — Oh, I meant tee — 

off ! Is n't she a crank about her little old 

hump of dirt? Well — [Disgust] — that 

was n't much of a shot, was it ? What are 

all these people standing around for? Dear 

me ! I hate to begin before them. I 'm sure 

102 



THE FIRST LESSON 

I can do as well as that girl, though, who 
just teed — out! 

[Takes club and tries to place her 

hands on handle according to his 

directions. 1 

I see — right hand like this — um-hum. 

Free swing — is n't that free enough ? Oh, 

yes, feet on the ground, and only swing from 

the waist. I see — Oh, I can do it all right. 

Fix the little ant-hill for me. Now, I 'm to 

keep my eye on the ball, my feet on the 

ground, swing from the waist up, follow 

around, and — and incidentally hit the ball. 

[She swings and smiles proudly, her 
eye searching the distant horizon 
for the twirling white ball.] 
Where did it go ? Where ? 

[A look of dismay obliterates the 

smile, and her eyes search the 

ground at her feet.] 

Absurd ! Why, I never touched it, did I ? 

Well, did you ever? Try it again? How 

many trials do I get? Well, I know, but I 

thought I did measure the distance. This 

time I '11 surprise you. Now, look out ! 

Ask that woman to stand back — she bothers 

me. [She swings vigorously.] 

103 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

Oh, goodness me ! — what a " hole " ! 
[Laughs.] " Not so deep as a well, nor so 
wide as a church door, — but 't will serve/' 
It's hot, is n't it? Now — this time I'm 
surely off. One — two — three — go! 

[Swings again."] 

Ah — how far was that, caddy ? [Proudly.] 
Twenty feet ! Well, that 's pretty good, 
isn't it? Now, we just walk along, hitting 
toward that flag. It '11 take me a week to 
get to the first one. Now, little boy, you 
give me the biggest club in the bag — how 
could I be expected to hit anything with this 
little shinny-stick ? I don't care whether it 's 
the right one or not — I want a big one. 
Now, here goes! [She swings.] 

That must be fully two feet! Well, I hit 
it, and that's something. [Anxiously.] 
Don't you want to go on, and wait for me at 
the flag? I hate to spoil your game. Well 
— come on, then, if you 're quite sure I won't 
spoil your game. Suppose you give my ball 
one good crack this time to show me how 
it 's done. Oh — beautiful ! It must have 
gone a mile! [Admiringly.] How splendid 
and strong you are ! D' you know, I like it 
all but the little ball — if you did n't have to 
104 



THE FIRST LESSON 

worry about the pesky ball all the time, I 
think it would be a fine game. 

[Looks around.] 

Everybody is getting ahead of us, just on 
my account. Now, aren't you sorry you 
are n't playing with some other girl ? Well 
— if you 're satisfied . . . Oh, here 's your 
ball. [Watches him drive.] 

I wish I could do that ! How long would 
it take you to teach me to play like that ? All 
your life? Well — you must think I 'm a 
stupid ! Or else you 're a very poor teacher. 
I see; you think a good teacher ought to be 
able to keep a pupil forever. No — it 
would n't work with me. I Ve always got- 
ten tired of teachers — like playthings — in a 
month ! I did n't say my teachers were play- 
things — you are n't listening to me. You 're 
looking for that ball and neglecting my 
conversation in a shameful manner! Dear, 
oh, dear ! I have to hit it again ! 

[Swings her club.] 

[Ruefully.] You 're right — it would take 
me a lifetime — I never saw such feeble ef- 
forts. My ! — it 's hot — I never felt the heat 
worse. Now — what do you do about the 
river? Pick up your ball and carry it over 

8 

105 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

the bridge? Drive it over? [Seriously. ] 
You don't say so ? Oh, I see what you mean. 
Now, you need n't laugh — how should I 
know you meant knock it over when you 
said drive. No — I did n't think you meant 
on horseback! See that boat down there, 
moored to the tree — [Sighs'] — doesn't it 
look inviting? How many more holes are 
there? Sixteen? Oh, gracious! ! ! Where 
— in the boat? What would I give if you 
paddled me to Summerdale for lunch ? I 'd 
give anything I own in the world — 'pon 
honor, I would! what can we do with the 
sticks ? Oh, yes, I 'd forgotten the caddy. 
And evidently he 's forgotten us. He 's ac- 
tually lying down over there in the shade. 
Steady her now till I get in. 

[Gets into boat.] 
Oh, this is heaven ! It 's awfully good of 
you, Victor, to be golf pastor and master — 
but you don't know with what joy and rap- 
ture I 'm saying — " Here endeth the first 
lesson ! " 



106 



A SUMMER IDYL 

Scene — Drawing-room. 
Discovered — Tommy and a Caller. 

Tommy 

We 've been at a — now — hotel ! Um-hum 
— we wuz there all the whole summertime. 
Yes, 'ri mamma and papa wuz there too, and 
Lizzie— she 's the nurse — but she did n't 
count much because she wuz always talkin' 
to a waiter there. . . . You bet I did have 
a good time. They wuz lots of childern 
there — oh, just wagon-loads — some wuz 
awful bad ones, like Lester Jones and Jim- 
mie Banks and Bud V Charlie, an' — an' — 
lots more bad ones, and, gee! we had fun. 
Us childern had to eat in the childern's 
dining-room, — just us an' the nurses, you 
know ; an' we ust to fro things — peaches an' 
crackers an' things — an' onct Lester Jones 
frowed a spoonful of soft-boiled egg right 
107 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

at his nurse. You ought to seen her face — 
gee! An' onct the manager earned in an' 
tor us that if we did n't behave we 'd have 
to go home, an' Bud Allin he had his squirt- 
gun, an' he made it go off at the man- 
ager, an' it all went down his collar in the 
behind of his neck ! Oh, my — he wuz mad ! 
He tried to find who did it, but he could n't, 
so he just tol' our parients on us, an' they 
give it to us awful ! 

Yes, we ust to play on the beach — morn- 
in's. We went in swimmin', an' yanked the 
ladies' feets frum under 'em. Gee! — you 
ought to heard 'em yell. Onct I wuz just 
yankin' Miss Molly's feets out — she wuz a 
lady there — an' old smarty Archie came out 
— he wuz her beau — an' he just grabbed me 
an' ducked me under, an' drownded me — 
pretty near. But I just guess we got even 
with him. I tol' the fellows 'bout it, an' at 
night on the porch — oh, it wuz a great, big 
porch, you know, an' music an' things — an' 
nights us kids ust to run round an' catch 
'em spoonin' — an' we heard Smarty Archie 
askin' Miss Molly to go horsebackin' next 
mornin', so us kids fixed it up, an' we got 
up early an' put sand-burrs under Smarty 
108 



A SUMMER IDYL 

Archie's horse's tail. We stuck 'em on so 
you could n't tell they wuz there — but the 
horse he could. Gee! you ought to seen 
that horse go ! Every time he switched his 
tail he went faster, an' Smarty Archie got 
throwed an' skinned up, an' us kids wuz 
good an' glad, 'cause it served him right fur 
duckin' a kid 'bout half his size. 

Sometimes, when it wuz rainy, we stayed 
in an' played circus an' things — but that 
wuz n't as much fun, 'cause the girls wuz al- 
ways stickin' in. Onct when Bud Allin's 
sister just would come, an' we did n't want 
her, I got that squeezy thing out of my mo- 
ther's room — my mother cleans her teefs 
with it — you squeeze it, you know, an' a 
pink snake comes out — well, we tol' Jessie 
Allin it wuz candy, an' we 'd give it to her 
if she 'd go 'way, an' she et the whole thing, 
an', gee ! — she wuz sick an' had a doctor, an' 
everything, an' then she went an' told on us, 
just like a old girl, and we caught it, I tell 
you! 

Sometimes we played in the hall — chil- 

dern must n't, you know, but we ust to when 

our parients wuz out — an' 'way down at the 

end they is a hose, you know, like in the 

iop 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

garden, an' onct Bud Allin took it down 
when we wuz being a fire-engine, an' you 
ought to seen the water shootin' out, an' we 
could n't stop it. So we just ran out an' wuz 
playin' on the beach when they ast us if we 
did it. Gee ! — you ought to seen that hall — 
it wuz a regular river! 

But oh, the mostest fun wuz Harry — he 
wuz the bell-boy — an' you have a clock in 
your room, an' you turn the hands round to 
what you want, an' it rings down-stairs an' 
Harry brings it. An' we kids 'u'd ring for 
ice-water in my room an' then run up-stairs 
to Bud's room, so when Harry came they 
wuz n't nobody there. Gee ! — it ust to make 
him swear — we ust to hide back of the 
stairs an' hear him. But — [ Calls. ] — What ? 
All right — I 'm coming. That 's Lizzie — I 
wish we had a waiter for her here — she 
bothers me lots. Well, good-by — there's 
lots more I could tell you 'bout that hotel, 
but I got to go. It 's a awful nice place — 
you ought to go there. [Calls.] Yes, 
Lizzie, I'm a-comin'! [Exit.] 



no 



BELOW STAIRS 

Scene — Servants' hall. 

Enter the Butler, who drops into a chair, 

with a deep sigh. 
Enter the Maid, who also drops down, 

sighing. 

Butler 
Are they aff ? 

Maid 

Well, I hope so. The carriage door 
shlammed before I came down. 

Butler 

[Fans languidly with a paper.] Phwat 
a day ! It began wrang this marnin', an' its 
bin gittin' warse shteady all day. Firsht, 
she come into me panthry, an' sez to me face 
— to me face, moind ye — that the silver had 
in 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

not bin claned fur a wake ! I sez, " Madam, 
it wuz claned f oive days ago to-day ! " 
"Well," she sez, "it's black— an' ye 
have n't had a dinner party nor a lunch fur 
two days, an' not a thing on earth to do but 
clane the silver ! " Thin I shpoke roight up. 
" If there wuz min enough in the shtable," 
I sez, " so 's the under butler would n't have 
to ride on the box wid yez," I sez, " the sil- 
ver could be claned twicet a wake. But," I 
sez, " wid havin' to ^-conymize on the under 
butler — I do the best I can, mum," I sez. 

Maid 

Sure ye do — we all do. If she 'd e-cony- 
mize a little on her clothes, we could have 
another under butler, an' it wud be more 
comfortable fur all av us! 

Butler 

Just hand me a sip av that sherry, Maggie, 
to quiet me narves. Thin, at dinner, I was 
'mos' frantic. She wuz a bundle av narves, 
an' he wuz a bundle av grunts! I wuz so 
flushtered I gave him the wrang ceegar and 
112 



BELOW STAIRS 

I gave her Scotch fur rye — an' all those 
Zuzus at the pahrty rubbered their heads aff. 
I saw that old Mrs. Smith-Smythe a-grin- 
nin', an' I wanted to shpill champagne down 
her back ! 

Maid 

Well, ye ain't the only mourner on the 
binch ! She has n't bin to bed befare three 
o'clock fur t'ree days, an' she 's crass as two 
shticks ! It 's "Maggie" here, an' "Maggie" 
there ! An' " Not those shoes, Maggie," an' 
" I tor ye to have that opery cloak claned ! " 
By Gar, I thought I 'd shake her! " Ye tol' 
me about that cloak this marnin'," I sez. 
" Did ye ixpict me to have it claned an' home 
by to-noight? " I sez. She give me a look, 
but she 's too shmart to make me rale mad ! 

Butler 

Look at the way we wor-ruk ! From noine 
in the marnin'* till eight at noight — an' thim 
not out more than three days a wake to 
lunch, an' four noights a wake to dinner! 
An' phwat do ye git fur your sarvice? A 
palthry hunderd a month an' yer livery — an' 

ii3 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

no thanks ! It 's a harrud loife, Maggie, an' 
that 's no joke! 

Maid 

Well, look at me — phwat with her break- 
fast to be took up at nine, an' her lunch 
clothes laid out, an' her afternoon clothes 
claned, an' her dinner clothes pressed, I 've 
niver a minute to meself. Now, you git a 
rest whin they 're aff to dinner, but not me ! 

Butler 

[Grins.] Go an — you were shlapin' two 
hours yisterday ! 

Maid 

Well, goodness knows, I naded it. Don 't 
she git in at all hours, an' don't I have to 
wait up? . . . Well, phwat 's doin' to- 
night? 

Butler 

[Languidly.] I 've a few f rinds comin' 
to late supper in the Servants' Hall. 
114 



BELOW STAIRS 

Maid 
Am I in ut? 

Butler 

Sure ye are, Maggie. Ye 're a foine 
gyurl, machree; d' ye think I 'd lave ye 
out? 

Maid 
Who's comin'? 

Butler 
Kivers laid fur tin! 

Maid 
Silver an' plate? 

Butler 
Sure. 

Maid 
Wine? 

Butler 
Sure! 

ii5 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

Maid 
Dancin' af therwards ? 

Butler 

Thim 's um. Me an' you to lead the cow- 
tillion. 

Maid 
Cowtillion — ye don't say! 

Butler 

I do. Ye know they are in the habit av 
pitchin' their cowtillion favors into the 
waste-basket the marnin' after — an' I 'm in 
the habit av collictin' thim out. Oh, say, 
I 've got a grand lot av shtuff — 'nuff for tin 
figgers ! 

Maid 

Oh, say — ain't we commy-il-fote? 

[She rises and sweeps by him, say- 
ing,] 
Ring the bell, plaze, Martin, fur me maid. 
1x6 



BELOW STAIRS 

I must driss fur Mr. Martin Matthew Mori- 
arity's ball. Order me carriage at 'livin. 
Ah, here ye are, Maggie — lay out me green 
satin an' me yallow coat — 

[She laughs and changes to her natu- 
ral manner.] 
I '11 be wid ye in the twinklin' av an eye, 
Moriarity! [She runs out.] 

Butler 

[Looks after her.] Maggie, ye 're a 
foine gyurl. [He rises and stretches and 
yawns.] I don't know — I may marry that 
gyurl — she 'mos' suits me. Well, we '11 see. 

[Exit.] 



117 



ON WOMAN'S RIGHTS 

Scene — School-house at Bird Center. 
Discovered — Woman's Club in session. 
Mrs. Wiggin takes the Hoor. 

Mrs. Wiggin 

[Begins in hasty and deprecatory manner.] 
I ain't a-goin' to try to explain to you — 
what 's thet, Miss Parsons ? Address the 
cheer? Why, what you talkin' 'bout — I 
ain't addressin' no cheer ! 

[She pauses while the parliamentary 

rule is explained to her. Dawning 

intelligence seen on her face.] 

Oh, I see — it's parlymentry, is it? Waal 

— I 'm glad you tol' me. Is it a he-cheer, 

or a she-cheer, Miss Parsons? [Angrily.] 

Call me to order ? Who 's a-callin' me to 

order? You 'tend to your own order, Mal- 

viny Springer, an' you '11 have your hands 

full. I don't notice so much order in your 

IIQ 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

housekeepin'. [To chairman.] What's 
thet? [Pause.] Oh — I see. Waal, now, 
why did n't ye explain thet to me at first — 
Malviny — excuse me. Ye see, I ain't ben 
to no club meetin' before — the first one ye 
had, I wuz havin' trouble with my hired help. 
Ye all know Jemima Hawkins — waal, she 's 
ben with me goin' on ten years — jest like 
one of the family, an' she had to go home 
to her folks — she 's got a lot of folks, Je- 
mima has — her father an' mother an' nine 
brothers an' sisters, an' they all got some dis- 
ease or other. Why, oncet I wuz up there 
to see Miss Hawkins, an' she lined them kids 
up, an' counted 'em out — No. I, heart dis- 
ease — No. 2, rickets — No. 3, lunger, etc., 
down thru the list. I reckon they got all 
the diseases in the catechism, an' so Jemima 
had to go home of course, an' so I could n't 
come to the club meetin', an' next meetin' ye 
had, the twins wuz croupy, an' — what ? Oh, 
yes — waal, excuse me — I '11 git down to biz- 
ness now. 

My paper's on Women's Rights — an' I 

wuz a-goin' to hev it all writ out, an' tied up 

with a blue ribbon an' all, but it took so long, 

I give thet up, an' so I ain't really goin' to 

120 



ON WOMAN'S RIGHTS 

read no paper at all, but will speak jest frum 
the tablets of mem'ry. 

I don't know jest what Women's Rights 
is, but I don't s'pose thet makes any differ- 
ence in a speech, an' there 's one thing I 'm 
dead sure I do know, an' thet is what Wo- 
men's Rights ought to be. A woman ought 
to hev rights — she 's a weak creeture, 'long- 
side of feller-man, an' she ought to be al- 
lowed her rights. Woman ain't never had 
a fair show — she was handiclapped frum the 
first, bein' made out of a rib, the way she 
wuz, an' so much ought not to be expected 
of woman as otherwise. 

Man hez always ben the stronger animal, 
but woman ain't without her weapings 
— namely and to wit, nails, feet, and tongue, 
— specially tongue, — an' with these few, 
she rose to her present peenuckle of glory! 

Women frum the first hez ben the leader 

— Eve led Adam, an' we 've ben leadin' men 

ever sence, so of course some rights hez ben 

growin' along with us. There 's several I 

think of — namely an' to wit: i, the right to 

change her mind — 2, the right to say the last 

word — 3, the right to ask her man what 

time he got in — 4, the right to mean yes 
9 

121 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

when she says no, and others, etcetry. To 
take these one by one an' sing'larly we see 
No. i — the right to change her mind. Of 
course, all humans change the mind, but 
specially women — but how you ever goin' 
to learn anything if ye don't change the 
mind ? I ust to think thet a husband wuz a 
great convenience — 'fore I got one. Now 
how wuz I to learn myself thet a husband 's 
worse 'n twins, unless I change my mind? 
Thet 's what I ask you folks, an' you 're all 
women, an' had the same experience, so I 
need n't say no further on thet head. No. 
2 — the right to git the last word. Now, I 
hold thet somebody hez got to git the last 
word, so it may as well be woman (an' usu- 
ally is), but woman gits little enough here 
below, an' she may as well git what she can. 
No. 3 — the right to ask a man what time he 
got in. Waal, it ain't a-goin' to do her no 
good to ask about it, fur there ain't a man 
on earth thet '11 tell the truth, but it 's a sat- 
isfaction fur her to know what a good liar 
she 's got ! Now, just to show what a mean- 
sperited man 'ull descend to — I knowed a 
man thet said "Twelve o'clock'' to the 
usual question, an' jest then the cuckoo 

122 



ON WOMAN'S RIGHTS 

clock hollered three, an' he up an' cuckooed 
ten times. But law — he found out thirteen 
wuz a unlucky number! So, you see, wo- 
man has a right to all the rights she 's got. 

Now, there is some females as is a-pinin' 
fur the right to vote in polyticks, 'long with 
the men, an' we all know one sister who 
leaves her children to the care of umselves, 
whilst she 's a-trottin' round, tryin' to git 
other women to vote. She 's got the worst 
kids in the county, an' ought to be home 
managin' them. I went to town oncet to hear 
what she had to say, an' left the twins with 
their dad, an' while I wuz gone, one of um 
fell in the well, an' wuz most drownded, an' 
the other fed whitewash to the calf, so I 
made up my mind I 'd had enough of the 
votin' bizness. 

Now, I know I don't want no man mon- 
keyin' round my kitchen, an' I reckon men 
feels the same. Polyticks is men's work. 
Men hez run polyticks fur a good many 
years, an' I reckon they 're welcome to keep 
on doin' it. I don't want the job. What 
would we do with a woman president, fur 
instance ? I bet she never could git a cabinet 
together, an' 't 'ud be worse 'n a sewin'-bee 
123 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

if she did. So women hed better stay to 
hum. The rights ye want is these — namely 
an' to wit — to manage yer hum, yer chil- 
dern, an' yer husband to suit yerself, an' I 
got my opinion of any female as can't do 
thet. In closin', I would say — thet rights 
is rights — an' women is women — an' they 
ought to hev 'em! [Exit.] 



124 



A HIGHLY COLORED 
SKETCH 

Scene — Melindy Jonsing's kitchen. 

Discovered — Melindy, singing. 

Enter Mr. Abraham Ebenezer White. 

White 

Good ebenin', Miss Melindy Jonsing. 

Melindy 

Oh, it 's you — is it ? 

White 

No — it ain't me— it 's some other nigger. 
Is yo' at home dis ebenin' ? 

Melindy 

I don' know if I is or not. I mought be, 
an' again I mought n't — what you want, 
anyway, Mr. Abraham White? 

"5 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

White 

Want ? I don' want nuffin, I come to make 
a call on yo\ Am' yo' never see a gen'le- 
man makin' a call befo' ? 

Melindy 

Sho' I is — but all de gen'leman what call 
on me is in de habit ob sendin' up deir 
cyard. 

White 

Well, hoi' on — I gwine sen' up ma cyard 
if you-all gib me time. Whar 's yo' butler ? 
I ain J see no han' stretched out fo' to take 
ma cyard! 

Melindy 

[Grins and bridles.] Well, hyah 's de 
hand, now let 's see de cyard. Who yo' say 
yo' want to see dis ebenin' ? 

White 

Miss Melindy Jonsing is de lady's name. 
126 



A HIGHLY COLORED SKETCH 

Melindy 

Well, I don' know if she '11 see yo' or not 
— she ain't so stuck on yo'. Say, how long 
yo' gwine stay here, Mistah White? 

White 
Till I gits kicked out. 

Melindy 
Well, yo' mought as well sit down, den. 

White 

Sure I mought — jes' as cheap. 

[Starts to sit, then sees the lack of 
chairs.] 
Say, look-a-yere, I don' want to sit on de 
only cheer — yo' sit down. 

Melindy 

No, I don 5 want to sit down, I ruther 
stand up. 

127 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 
White 
Aw, go on — sit down. 

Melindy 

No, sah — I could n't think ob deprivin* 
yo' ob yo' seat 

White 

No depravity at all, Miss, no depravity at 
all. [She sits down.] 

How 's all yo' folks? 

Melindy 
Ma folks is all right — how 's yo' folks ? 

White 

Ma folks is all right — 'ceptin' George 
Washington an' Grover Cleveland an' Abra- 
ham Lincoln — dey 's all got somethin' de 
matter wid dem, but de res' ob us is able to 
take a pork chop now an' den ! 
128 



A HIGHLY COLORED SKETCH 

Melindy 

Dat sholy is good news, Mr. White — I 'se 
glad to hear dat. . . . 

White 

Say — look-a-yere — did n't I see yo' flaxin' 
round wid dat barber-shop coon las' night? 

Melindy 

Mr. Rastus Harris— if dat's de gen'le- 
man yo' 'se 'ludin' at — done took me to a 
minstrel show. 

White 

I ain' got no use £o' dat coon! 

Melindy 

He am' got no use fo' yo' — neder. I 
think he 's the swellest, mos' galubrious 
coon I ever set ma eyes on. Ma ! — he does 
blow de money. He don' hoi' on to a 
quarter lak it wuz a ticket into Kingdom 
Come. 

129 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

White 

Yes — well, it 's easy 'nuff to blow yo' 
money when yo' make it shootin' craps, but 
when yo' work fo' all de money yo' gits — 
yo' don' go out an' blow it all one night on 
no flirtatious nigger woman what don 5 know 
yo' on de street de next time she meets yo'. 

Melindy 

Look-a-yere — Mistah White — who yo' 
'ludin' at? 

White 
I ain' 'ludin' at nobody. 

Melindy 

Well, dat's a good thing. I don' know 
as yo' got any place crisiticisin' anybody. 
Any man dat 's sittin' up to yaller trash like 
dat Anastasia Brown ain' got no place crisiti- 
cisin' nobody! 

White 

Who's sittin' up to Anastasia Brown? 
130 



A HIGHLY COLORED SKETCH 

Melindy 

Why, yo' is — Ain' I see yo' dancin' wid 
her at de Jolly Club's ball? 

White 
Well, I only danced wid her once. 

Melindy 

Well, dat wuz once mo' dan anybody 
else did. Ma ! I thought I would die a-laffin' 
de way she wuz a-sittin' round de wall — I 
reckon she 's gwine fin' out her eristercrati- 
cal ways won't go down in our set! 

White 
Lawd — I felt sorry f o' de gyurl ! 

Melindy 

Yes, yo' did. I yeard how yo' took her 
home, an' how yo* kissed her. 

^31 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

White 

Kissed her? Kissed dat Anastasia 
Brown? Why, I 'd jes' as soon kiss ol' Pete 
Thompson's mule as dat trash. Who tol' 
yo' I kissed her? 

Melindy 

Well, dat 's all right who tol* me yo' 
kissed her. I don' see how yo' expect to 
keep company w r id high-toned ladies! 

White 

Oh, yo' aiii' so much, flaxin' 'round wid 
dat barber-shop coon. Anastasia Brown ain' 
de only scarecrow in de corn-field! . . . 
Now, look yere, Melindy Jonsing — I 'se put 
up wid all de foolin' I 'se gwine to — yo' is 
got to take yo' choice. Yo' 'se mine or 
yo' 'se his'n. Now, is yo' or ain't yo' ? 

Melindy 

I don' know if I is — or not. 
132 



coon? 



A HIGHLY COLORED SKETCH 

White 
Is yo' goin' to gib up dat barber-shop 

Melindy 
Ma! — he has got de fine mannerses. 

White 

Yo' gwine quit foolin' wid dat crap- 
shooter ? 

Melindy 
Ma ! — he does throw de money. 

White 

Yo' gwine leave off foolin' wid dat sec- 
ond-hand fashion plate? 

Melindy 

Mebbe he don' wear de fine clothes ! 
133 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

White 

Well, go on, an' take him, den, an' yo' 're 
welcome to him. Ob all de snub-nosed, 
bow-legged cigar-store Indians I eber see, 
he 's de worst. He simply nashewates me — 
dat 's what he does. I would n't take him 
to a^dawg-fight. But if he's de pineapple 
ob yo' eye, why, go on an' marry him — yo' 
got ma sympathy. [Starts to go out.] 

Melindy 

Well, what yo' rushin' round here fo' — 
lak a chicken wid his head off? 

White 
I ain' gwine stay where I ain' wanted. 

Melindy 
Who said yo' wuz n't wanted? 

White 

Why — yo' did. If yo' gwine marry dat 
coon I can't afford to 'sociate wid yo' — I 
can't risk ma reputation. 
i?4 



A HIGHLY COLORED SKETCH 

Melindy 
Who said I wuz gwine to marry him? 

White 
Yo' said so yo'self — dat 's who ! 

Melindy 

Oh, I nebber did say so — I ain't got no 
mo' intention ob marryin' wid him dan I 
has ob marryin' — yo' ! 

White 

[Firmly. ] Well, look-a-yere — Melindy 
Jonsing, if yo' am' a-goin' to marry him, 
yo' is a-goin' to marry me! 

Melindy 
Is dat so? Who said so? 

White 

I said so — dat 's who said so. 
*35 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

Melindy 
Well — I lak yo' nerve. 

White 

'Cose yo' do — ladies always laks a nervous 
man ! [Puts arm about her.] 

Say, Melindy, does yo' lub yo' honey ? 

Melindy 
Oh, so-so. I ain' so crazy 'bout yo' ! 

White [sings'] 

Can't think ob nuffin else but you — you — you — 

I 'd die fo' you — I sigh fo' you. 
Nights when I 'se sleeping I wakes to fin' 1 'se 
weepin'— 

All fo' you, Luly-loo — 
I 'se a-dreamin' all de time ob you, Lu-lu! 

[Exeunt.] 



& 



A DARK-BROWN 
DIPLOMAT 

Scene — Mammy's kitchen. 
Discovered — Mammy singing at her iron- 
ing-board. 

Mammy 

Yas'm — Miss Winston — yo' callin' me? 
I 'se hyah in de kitchen, ma'am. Yo' lookin' 
kind ob tired like, dis mohnin' — I hope yo' 
am' feelin' badly. . . . Ma'am — mad wif 
me? Why, 'fo' Gawd, Miss Winston — what 
I done ? Things a-missin' from yo' kitchen ? 
Why, dat mighty strange — I bin hyah in de 
kitchen all de time, an' I ain' missed nuffin. 
. . . Does I take things home wif me? 
Why, yas 'm — sometimes — we all does. 
Night 'fo' las' — lemme see — yas'm,I reckon 
I did take a few things dat night — dat was 
de night I tuk some things to ole Miss John- 

'37 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

sing — she 's so poly. I ain't tuk nuffin much, 
tho' — jes' a carcass ob a ole chicken, I 
know yo' ain' gwine hab no use fo\ Mos' 
a whole chicken? No'm — yo' mistookin' 
'bout dat, Miss Winston — war n't nuffin but 
ole handful ob bones dat I tuk. Why, Miss 
Johnsing only got four childern, an' dey 
was n't but one helpin' round — so yo' see 
yo'self, ain't nuffin but a carcass. What 
else I tuk? I — I don' jes' recomember — 
Sugar ? Yas 'm, I reckon dey was a leetle 
sugar — an' sweet potaters ? Yes 'm — jes' a 
few, knotty ones, I know yo' ain' gwine hab 
no use fo\ Buttah — yas 'm — mite o' buttah. 
Can't hab sweet potaters widout buttah, yo' 
know, Miss Winston. Cake ? — no 'm, dey 
wa'n't no cake. I reckon dat 's 'bout all dey 
wuz in dat basket. Does I know what, 
ma'am? Dat stealin'? 'Fo' Gawd — Miss 
Winston — dat ain't stealin'. What is 
stealin' ? Why — I reckon, when yo' bust in 
de houses ob peoples yo' don't know — dat 
yo' ain't got no 'quaintance wif — dat 's 
stealin' ! Why ain't I ask yo' f o' de things ? 
Well, Miss Winston, I know, when yo' heah 
how poly ole Miss Smiff is — I know yo' 
gwine give 'em to me — so what 's de use ob 



A DARK-BROWN DIPLOMAT 

askin' yo'? Did I say Miss Smiff — well, I 
meant Miss Johnsing — it wuz Miss Johnsing 
I tuk 'em to — she 's de one dat 's poly. Et 
'em maself ? — Miss Winston — I gib yo' ma 
word ob honor — I ain' had a smell ob dem 
things maself ! Yas 'm — I heah yo'. Yas 'm, 
I gwine promise nevah to do dat no mo'. I 
gwine ask yo' fo' eb'rything I take. Yas 'm, 
I know de cream go awful fast — like — but 
it 's dat cat yo' got. Dat 's de mos' expen- 
singest cat I ebber done know nuffin about. 
She gits on de breakfust-table 'fo' yo'-all 
gits down in de mohnin', and gits her haid 
in de cream-pitcher. I cotched her at it lots 
ob times. Whip her? Lawd — Miss Win- 
ston — I do whip her. Why, udder day I 
fired a flatiron at her haid — but it don't do 
no good. Can't get cream out 'n de bottle ! 
Dat cat can't? Why, Miss Winston — yo' 
don't know dat cat. Why, I seen her get 
onto de shelf, an' stick her claws in de paste- 
board top ob de bottle, and yank it off, an' 
den stick her udder paw in an' lick up de 
cream. Dat 's de truf I 'm tellin' yo'. . . . 
De cake ? No 'm, de cat don't eat de cake 
— it 's de miceses. I nevah did see a house 
so full ob miceses. Some mohnin's I come 

139 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

down to git de breakfust, an' I fin' dey hab 
et up half a cake ober night! Dat cat? She 
won't tech miceses — she got to hab cream — 
she has ! 

Ma'am? Mistah Winston says ma 
cookin' don' make up fo' ma 'stravagance? 
Why, I don' know what he means. Ain' 
no one ebber found no fault befo' wid 
ma cookin' — nevah dat I heard tell ob. 
Why, Judge Harlow — whah I was 'fo' I 
came hyah — he said I was de mo^ original- 
est cook he ebber done heard tell ob. He said 
ma cookin' beat all — dat what he said. He 
said he did n't think it wuz right fo' him to 
deprive humanity ob ma cookin' — an' he 
paid me extra fo' to go an' cook fo' some- 
body else. He said when yo' got a good 
thing — 't was yo' duty to push it 'long. 
Dat 's what he said. Dey ain't nevah any- 
body foun' no fault wid ma cookin' befo'. 

Well, I reckon I ain' seem to suit yo'-all 
■ — so I bettah be movin' 'long. I 'se awful 
sorry to go, I is. Yo' bin mighty kind to me, 
yo' an' Mistah Winston. I don' reckon I 'se 
ebber gwine fin' no chillen I like as well as 
yo' chillen. Lots ob folks won't hab chillen 
playin' roun' deir kitchen, but I likes it. 
140 



A DARK-BROWN DIPLOMAT 

Dey 's powerful lot ob company in chillens. 
[Calls.] What dat? No, now, Miss Alice, 
honey, yo' can't make patty-cakeses now — 
I 'se busy talkin' to yo' ma. What ? Yo' gib 
me a kiss if I let yo' ? Well, yo' come right 
'long hyah an' gib me de kiss, an' we '11 see 
'bout dem cakeses. 

[Watches child in, and bends to kiss 
her, then shoos her ont.~\ 

Mighty smart child, Miss Alice is — I 'se 
mighty fond ob her — an' she lub ole mammy 
too. 

Well, Miss Winston, when yo' want me 
to go? Don' want me to go? But if yo* 
don' lak ma cookin' an' ma 'stravagance — 
I 'low yo' ain't want me to stay. I 'se willin' 
to go — I 'd ruther go dan fo' yo' to hab any 
hard thoughts about me. I 'se a po' ole 
woman, Miss Winston, but I got a honest 
heart. Yo' say yo' ain't sendin' me off— 
yo' just a-scoldin' me? Well, bress de Lord 
— honey — yo' did gib me a scare — I thought 
yo' gwine turn me out dis time, sho. Miss 
Winston, I gib yo' ma solemn word — I 
gwine reform. I gwine be so savin', yo' 
won't know me. . . . Now what yo' want 
fo' dinner to-night? . . . Oh, yes, 'fo' I for- 
141 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

git it — could yo' let me off on Sunday, fo' 
de day — -I want to go to a funeral — ole Miss 
Johnsing's. Yas 'm — same lady. Well — she 
ain' dead yet. Yo' see, it 's lak dis. She 's 
mighty poly, and likely to go any minute, 
an' she say dat de corpse am' got no show 
at all at a funeral, so she gwine hab hers 'fo' 
she goes. It 's gwine be Sunday — all de 
colored folks in town is gwine. Yas, I 'd 
like to go all day — it 's gwine be mighty 
long funeral. Yas 'm — thank yo' — Miss 
Winston, I hope yo' can 'range it fo' me. I 
sut'nly would 'predate it. [Listens.] 
What 's dat ? Dat 's dem chillen on ma 
clean back steps. I gwine snuk out dere an' 
catch 'em at it. 

[Tiptoes to door, then breaks out.] 

Yo' chillen — what yo' doin' dere? Am' I 

tol' yo' not to play on ma clean steps? Yo' 

want me to break yo' necks. [Exit.] 






142 



AT Mme. NEWBERRY'S 

Scene — Mme. Newberry's Fashionable 
Finishing School. 

Discovered — Jane Mortimer, secretary to 
Mme. Newberry, sitting at the 
office desk and interviewing can- 
didates. 

Enter, with immense empressement, Mrs. 
Payson de Sleyster and her 
daughter, Eleanora. 

Mrs. Payson de Sleyster 

[In a large, mellifluous voice accus- 
tomed to command. ] 
I wish to see Mme. Newberry — will you 
send in my card? She is busy, you say, — 
well — I am Mrs. Payson de Sleyster — no 
doubt she will see me. She makes it a rule 
to see no one during teaching hours? Dear 
me ! — how tiresome ! I suppose I could come 
again, but it would inconvenience me 

H3 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

greatly. [Hesitates.] Well — I suppose I 
could transact my business with you if ne- 
cessary — but I would prefer to deal with 
Mme. Newberry direct. 

I wish to make some inquiries about the 
school, preparatory to placing my daughter, 
Eleanora, in Mme. Newberry's charge. 
How large is the school ? Indeed ? That 's 
unfortunate — I should have preferred it 
smaller. Are there really nice girls in the 
school? Ah — Eleanora has associated with 
none but the best, of course, and I should 
not wish her to form any ties with ordinary 
persons. I do not wish her to study much — 
she is not strong — oh, yes — what do you 
teach ? 

[She takes catalogue from secretary 
and reads aloud.] 

" Voice-culture, music, dancing, fenc- 
ing, pronunciation, deportment, reading, 
French, German, and elocution. ,, [Lan- 
guidly.] Um-hum — these do very well. 
[With more interest.] Will she learn to 
enter a drawing-room? Good — and to con- 
verse on topics of — a — interest? Conversa- 
tion classes, you say? Literature, art, 
science, politics — is that the sort of thing 
144 



AT MME. NEWBERRY'S 

they discuss? I didn't mean that sort of 
topics of interest — I meant the sort of talk 
that one needs at a dinner. I do not wish 
her to learn to discuss politics — it 's no topic 
for a lady. Besides, I would n't have Elea- 
nora become a strong-minded woman for 
anything in the world. I have always 
formed her opinions for her, and I have been 
very careful w 7 hat she learns. 

The main difficulty with Eleanora is her 
shyness. I can't imagine where she gets it 
— not from my family, nor her father's, 
either, I 'm sure. It 's a great trial to me — 
a great affliction. I 've brought her to Mme. 
Newberry to have this overcome. I feel 
convinced that it can be trained out of her. 
Of course, in society, to-day, a shy woman 
does n't get anywhere. None of Eleanora's 
friends are shy, I 'm sure — and she has al- 
ways been sent to the most expensive 
schools — I really don't see where she gets 
it. Well, I hope you can do something with 
her. 

Now about the hours. Of course I do not 
wish her to study outside of school hours. 
She always gets so interested in her work 
that she is absolutely good for nothing else. 

H5 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

Of course, I do not wish her school to inter- 
fere with other things. I have always 
thought too much study unhealthy for a 
young girl. 

Well, then she can begin on Monday — 
at nine? Dear me — that seems very early. 
Is it really necessary that she should be here 
at nine? Well — it seems a barbarous hour 
to me! Her name? Oh, yes — Eleanora Pay- 
son de Sleyster, 32 Astor Court. Age nine- 
teen. Suppose you just put down on that 
card — " special attention to shyness/' so 
Mme. Newberry will not forget. I will send 
you a check to-day. What is the — a — a — ? 
Oh, is that all? Why, I paid five hundred 
more at her last school ! Are you sure that 
really nice girls are in this school ? Well — 
she may try it a week or so. I think 
that is all. Come along, Eleanora. Good 
morning. 



146 



AT MME. NEWBERRY'S 



II 



Enter a gentlemanly looking young woman 
with a strong jaw and a long 
stride. She speaks in a tiny, 
threadlike voice which is un- 
speakably funny in connection 
with her mannish manners. 

She speaks 

Is Mme. Newberry here? Well, I want to 
speak to her. When will she be at leisure? 
Oh, you 're her secretary, are you? Well, 
you '11 do just as well. I 'm a lecturer — and 
I wish to develop my voice a little bit. I 
have understood that I could have it done 
here. What sort of lecturer? Why, 
I'm Elmira Beechum! [Huge surprise.] 
Haven't you ever heard of me? I'm one 
of the best-known Lyceum lecturers in the 
West to-day, and before many years have 
rolled away the whole length and breadth of 
this land from the gray Atlantic to the blue 
Pacific shall ring with the name of Beechum ! 
No, I 'm no relation to the Liver Pill man. 

H7 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

My desire is to become the greatest reformer 
of our times. All can see that the " times 
are out of joint," that society, conventions, 
matrimony, the family, the state, and the 
nation all need revolutionizing — all can see 
that, I say — but few have the power to un- 
dertake such reform. This is the task I 've 
set myself. I intend to move thousands by 
my eloquence ; to arouse them to some reali- 
zation of the frightful condition of things in 
general ! 

How do I expect to accomplish this ? Ah, 
that is my secret. It is the most comprehen- 
sive plan evolved by the human brain since 
the days of Napoleon. I have had it copy- 
righted, and when the time comes I '11 as- 
tonish the world with it ! 

The only thing I need now is a little more 
voice, and I Ve come to Mme. Newberry to 
get it. I only have a few weeks to spend in 
this city before starting on a tour of Da- 
kota, so I thought I might get my voice im- 
proved before I start. She could only give 
me the principles of voice development, you 
say? Well, if I like her, I may come back 
after the Dakota trip. Do you think I could 
take a lesson this morning? I don't want 
148 



AT MME. NEWBERRY'S 

to miss any time. It 's ten-thirty now. See 
that watch ? The people of Osceolo gave that 
to me as a thank-offering for showing them 
in what frightful slavery they live. Strange 
that you never heard of me ! Never heard of 
my lecture — " Reformation of the Uni- 
verse " ? Here 's some of my clippings — see 
this one from Witch's Gulch, Texas — 
" Miss Beechum's lecture ' Reformation of 
the Universe ' is one of the unchallenged lit- 
erary triumphs of the age! " 

You think it would n't pay me to study 
for a few weeks, you say ? She could n't do 
anything with my voice in that time? Why 
not ? I ' ve got a very good voice indeed — 
all I want is a little more of it. Well — you 
need n't hem and haw about it — I expect 
there are other places where I can get a nat- 
urally fine voice brushed up a bit — where 
they '11 be only too glad to have the name 
of Elmira Beechum enrolled upon their 
roster ! 

[She makes a dignified but haughty 
exit.] 



149 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 



in 



Enter sweet-looking girl with retiring man- 
ner. She blushes, and seems to 
hesitate before speaking. 

I w-w-want to sp-sp-speak to M-m-ma- 
dame Newberry, p-p-pl-please. Oh, y-y- 
you 're the s-s- [Whistles'] secretary, are 
you? Well, I w-w-w- [Whistles'] want to 
1-1-learn to con-con-converse. You see, I 
st-st-stut-stutter a 1-1-little, and I th-th- 
thought that p-p-probably she c-c-could 
c-c- [Whistles] cure me. 

I Ve always recited a g-g-good d-d-deal, 
and everybody at h-h-home thinks I could 
g-g-go on the st-stage, if I only did n't 
st-st-stutter a 1-1-little. I can do the b-b- 
balcony scene fr-fr-from " R-R-Romeo and 
J- Juliet " — by Shakspere. The one ab-ab- 
about "R-R-Romeo — Ru-Ru-Romeo, where- 
fore art th-thou, R-R-Romeo ? " I pl-pl- 
played both parts when I gr-gr-raduated 
from h-h-high sc-school, and everybody said 
that it was as g-g-good as J- J- Julia Ma-Ma- 
Marlowe! I c-can do the two p-parts for 
y-y-you, if you w-w-want me to. 

ISO 



AT MME. NEWBERRY'S 

Of c-c-course, if I st-st-stuttered very 
badly, I c-could n't th-th- [Whistles] think 
of going on the st-st-stage, but I th-th- 
thought that M-M-Madame Newberry m-m- 
might cure me in a m-m-m-month or so. 
Oh, y-yes — I have b-b-been to a sc-school of 
st-stuttering. I was there a y-y- [Whistles'] 
year, but I did n't 1-1-like their m-m-method 
there. 

You don't th-th-think she could cure me 
if a regular doctor could n't ? Well, I 'd 
rather see M-M-Madame Newberry herself, 
if you don't m-m-mind. At t-t-ten to-mor- 
row ? W-well, I '11 be in and d-d-do the 
b-b-balcony sc- [Whistles] scene from " R- 
Romeo and J- J- Juliet " by Shakspere. G-g- 
good-by. 



IV 



Enter a very dressy young person who 
switches into a chair 

She speaks 

This is a school of acting, is n't it ? I want 
to take a few lessons before going on the 

151 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

stage. No, I have n't studied before — that 
is, not much. I don't believe in studying 
much — it takes all the naturalness out of 
you. Well, I have n't decided yet just what 
sort of actress I '11 be. I can do tragedy and 
comedy both. I can do the potion scene 
from " Juliet " and the sleep-walking scene 
from " Lady Macbeth." The elocution 
teacher down home said he never heard 
anybody do the potion scene any better 'n 
I do it, and he 'd heard 'most every great 
actor there is. I do a lot of other things. 
Do you know a play called " A Woman's 
Wrongs" ? Well, it 's the saddest thing you 
ever heard. It always makes everybody cry. 
I almost always cry myself when I do it — 
oh, it 's a grand thing. I 'm just crazy about 
getting on the stage. Of course, my family 
are n't for it — they think it 's awful ; but if 
you 're born for it you might as well go 
ahead. I think you ought to do what 
you "re cut out to — don't you ? 

Everybody says it 's easy to get into a 
good company if you come out of one of 
these stage schools — so I thought I 'd try 
this one. How long do you think it would 
take me to get ready for the stage? Ten 
152 



AT MME. NEWBERRY'S 

years? For goodness sake — do you suppose 
I 'm going to waste ten years getting 
ready? Why, in ten years I expect to be at 
the head of my own company. It does n't 
take long to be a star, now. All you have to 
do is to get in with some pushing manager. 

I have thought some of grand opera — I 
can sing a little. I always sang in the choir 
at home. We gave " Esther " once and I 
played the lead, and everybody was crazy 
about it. Whenever there 's a party at 
home they always ask me to sing something 
from grand opera or the " Rosary." It 
goes like this, you know. 

[She sings the " Rosary" unaccom- 
panied and wandering aimlessly 
from key to key.] 

I think I 'd rather be an actress, though — 
you have to be so careful when you 're a 
grand-opera star — can't eat much, nor stay 
up late. You don't think this school is what 
I want? If it 's going to take you ten years 
to get me ready, I 'm sure of it. I just 
want a few months' work and then a posi- 
tion. I think the school ought to guarantee 
the position in a good company. You can't 
do that? Well, then, that settles it. I'm 

153 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

sorry. I suppose I would have been a good 
advertisement for you — but I have to think 
of myself, you know. Good-by. 

[She sails out.] 



Enter a small girl, overdressed, quite unac- 
companied, and bearing all the 
marks of a stage child. 

She speaks 

I 'm the little girl the lady came to see you 
about yesterday. Yes, I 'm Pearl — " Pearl 
— the Child Wonder/' they call me on the 
bills. I 'm a vaudeville actress, you know, 
but I 'm out of an engagement now, so 
somebody told my mother I ought to go to 
school while we 're layin' off. I can, because 
we 're flush now, — 'cause I 've made good 
everywhere. I tell you " Pearl — the Child 
Wonder " gets the " hand " everywhere. I 
told her I would n't come to any readin'- 
writin'-'rithmetic school — 'cause I hate 'em 
— but if it was singin' and dancin' an' all 
that, I 'd just as soon. 

154 



AT MME. NEWBERRY'S 

Oh, I do song and dance, and pieces with 
lightning change. Did n't you ever hear 
me? For goodness sake — where you been 
living? I've been touring the U. S. for 
ten years. Oh, yes, they always bill me 
eight years old — people like you young, you 
know ; but, honest-to-goodness, I 'm twelve. 
Oh, no — I don't get tired of it — I 'm used 
to it. It 's layin' off, like I am now, that 
makes me tired. That 's why I 'd just as 
soon come to your school. What are you 
goin' to teach me ? I '11 do a turn, so you 
can see what I can do. 

[She recites, " Little Mabel — little 
Mabel, with her face against the 
pane" etc., in a sobbing voice, with 
very accurate gestures. Then she 
does the inevitable Swiss Moun- 
tain song with yodel chorus, doing 
a sort of clog-dance. ~\ 
One of my hits is the " Florodora " sex- 
tette. 

[She sings the sextette — leaping 
from the place where the man 
stands to the place where the girl 
stands. She does it very sol- 
emnly.] 

*55 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

Do you know a piece called the " Drunk- 
ard's Child " ? The first verse goes like 
this — 

A sweet child knelt 

At her mother's knee 

To say her evening prayer, 

When all at once 

A drunkard's step 

Rang out upon the stair. 

There 's ten verses — it always makes 'em 
cry, I '11 tell you. Then I know a lot more 
stuff — an' dances, of course. All right — go 
on an' tell me what you '11 make me do if 
I stay here. Learn to speak correct — do 
you mean grammar? I won't study that — I 
don't like that. Study real poetry ? No, sir ! 
I want funny pieces, or sad ones — I don't 
want no poetry! Spellin' an' deportment? 
Well, I guess not — I ain't a-goin' to study 
none of those things. If you won't teach me 
some new pieces and some new steps — I 
won't learn nothin'. What's the use? I 
don't need none of those things in my busi- 
ness. I 'm makin' good everywhere, now. 
I guess I don't want none of your finishin' 
school! Well, I'll be off an' "break the 
news to mother " — so long ! 

[Little Pearl flounces out.] 
156 



HOW IT HAPPENED 

Scene — Beach by moonlight. 

Discovered — Miss Audrey Gay, a romantic 
young thing. Mr. John Mar- 
vel, not so young nor romantic. 



She 

[Sighs.] It 's lovely, is n't it — the moon on 
the water and everything? 

He 

By Jove, it is lovely — the moon on the 
water — and everything. 

She 

It almost makes you want to be a poet, 
does n't it ? Only poets are always so poor. 

157 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

I know a man who writes the sweetest things 
about love and summer, and things for 
newspapers — and he says he does n't make 
enough to keep him in shoe-strings. Is n't 
that dreadful? Don't you think we ought 
to do something for our poets, Mr. Marvel ? 

He 

Yes, I do; I think we ought to kill them 
at birth. 

She 

Oh, how dreadful ! Don't you like poets, 
Mr. Marvel? 

He 

Can't say I do. I know too many of them. 
We 've got an over-supply on hand. . . . 
Let 's talk of something interesting. 

She 
Well, what do you think is interesting? 

He 

Let 's talk about — you. 
158 



HOW IT HAPPENED 

She 

Oh, but I 'm not — 

He 

Well, you 're so pretty, you don't have to 
be. [Aside.] I ought to be kicked for that. 
By Jove ! — she thinks it 's a compliment. 
Tell me what sort of thing you like? 

She 

What sort of things do you think I 'd 
like? 

He 

Well, you see, I 've only known you three 
days. 

She 
But that 's a long time at a summer resort. 

He 

So it is. I suppose I ought to know your 
innermost thoughts by this time. Unfortu- 

159 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

nately, I 've been looking at you, instead of 
thinking about you. What are you most in- 
terested in, in the world ? 

She 
Men — you mean ? 

He 
[Laughs.'] So that 's what you like best! 

She 

[Embarrassed. ,] Oh, I didn't under- 
stand. I did n't know you meant — I — 
well, I said I liked poetry. 

He 
So you did. What brand do you prefer? 

She 

Oh, I like Ella Wheeler Wilcox— don't 
you? 

160 



HOW IT HAPPENED 

He 

Heaven forbid! 

She 

And sometimes there's lovely poetry in 
the " Smart Set " and those magazines. 

He 

Yes ? Well — poetry — I Ve got that down 
as an absorbing interest. Next. 

She 
I like novels, too. 

He 
"Janice Meredith" and— "The Duchess" ? 

She 

[Nods.] How 'd you know? 
161 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

He 

How about the drama? 

She 

Oh, theater, you mean. I love it. Did 
you see James K. Hackett in — 

He 

Alas — no. Theater is three — now let 's 
have something really frivolous — society 
— dancing ? 

She 
Oh, yes ; I love them. 

He 

And men? 

She 
Um-hum. 

He 

I '11 tell you about your ideal — he 9 s six 
feet tall, square-shouldered, smooth-faced — 
162 



HOW IT HAPPENED 

is, or has been, an athlete at Yale or Har- 
vard. Dances well — knows the world — 
none better! A trifle blase, perhaps — but 
such a lady-killer. About right — is n't it? 

She 

Why, how did you know? Who told 
you? 

He 

You did. 

She 

I? Never — I never told a soul except 
Polly March and Susan Reynolds. 

He 
Well — no matter. Tell me some more. 

She 
No — now you tell me about your ideal. 

He 

Oh, no, I could n't ! It would be so em- 
barrassing, you know. 
163 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

She 
Why? 

He 

[With killing glance.] Why — she — 
she 's so near, you know — she 'd hear me ! 

She 
[Utter surprise.] You mean — ? 

He 

[Nods.] I kiss the hand of — my ideal! 
[Suits action to word.] 

She 

Oh, that 's a very pretty speech — but I 
know — I — I 'm not — 

He 

Don't you think it deserves a reward ? 

[He kisses her.] 
164 



HOW IT HAPPENED 

She 

Mr. Marvel! What do you mean? Now 
you Ve gone and spoiled it all. And I 
thought you were so nice. . . . 

He 

I am, really. But you did look so adora- 
ble, you know — 

She 
Well — come on. 

He 
Where? 

She 

Home — of course. I can't ever walk on 
the beach with you again, because you 're 
so silly! 

He 

[With faint smile.] Out of the mouths of 
babes — I agree with you entirely, Miss Au- 
drey, and I '11 apologize all the way home. 
I '11 go the entire way on my knees, if you 
like! [They walk away briskly.] 

165 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 



ii 



Scene — Hotel porch. 

Miss Audrey Gay meets her best friend, 
Polly March. 

Miss Gay 

Hello, Polly! How are you this morning? 
Yes, it 's a great day for our sail, is n't it ? 
Oh, yes, I 'm going — are n't you ? Who ? 
Mr. Marvel? — why, I don't know; I sup- 
pose he is. Thought I would n't go without 
him? Why, Polly March, what do you 
mean? You were where? On the beach — 
last night. Well, what if you were? Saw 
us? [Excitedly. ,] Polly, you didn't see 
him . . . Oh, Polly, you didn't! Who 
were you with? Not that Hudson man? 
Oh, dear — he'll tell everybody! I may as 
well tell you the truth about it, Polly March 
— come over here and sit down. 

Now, give me your word of honor — cross 
your heart and hope to die if you ever 
breathe a word I 'm going to tell you. Of 
166 



HOW IT HAPPENED 

course, mamma would be furious if it ever 
got out. Well, you see, Polly, it was like 
this. We were walking on the beach, and 
we sat down to rest. Mr. Marvel did n't 
say anything for a long time, but he sighed 
and looked at me so sadly — you know how 
sort of oldish and interesting he looks — 
and so I asked him why he sighed. He 
said it was because I reminded him of 
some one he had loved and lost — and then 
he told me about her. He was engaged 
to her, and she had hair and eyes like mine 
— that 's why he likes me. Her name was 
Evangeline — is n't that romantic? They 
used to sit on the beach together. And, 
Polly, he talked so beautifully, and he forgot 
all about me; he just looked off over the 
water and whispered, " Evangeline ! " and 
then he leaned over and kissed me. I never 
was so surprised in my life — and then all 
at once he came to, and, my dear, I never 
saw a man feel so terribly about anything. 
He could n't say enough — he had just for- 
gotten all about me, and dreamed he was 
with Evangeline. What could I do? He 
was so pathetic, and I felt so sorry for him. 
But, of course, I scolded him dreadfully. 
167 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

You think it was mean of me? Well, I had 
to. I don't know, though; perhaps you are 
right. After all, it was n't me he kissed — it 
was Evangeline. 

There goes the crowd down to the pier — 
we 'd better hurry, if we 're going. Now, 
remember, Polly — not a word to a living 
soul. {They rush off.] 



in 



Scene — Hotel porch. 
Marvel meets Hudson. 

Marvel 

How are you, Hudson? Great day, is n't it? 
The Pinta ought to make good time with 
this wind. What 's that ? Did I have a 
pleasant evening? Why, yes, fairly. What 
are you driving at? Saw me — what? 
Where were you? You old blackguard, 
what were you hanging around for? Why 
did n't you whistle ? Anybody with you ? 
Not that March girl! Good Gad— she '11 
spread the good news! 

[Takes him by the arm and walks 
him,] 
Well, look here, old man, it was like this. 
168 



HOW IT HAPPENED 

You see, Miss Gay and I had a bet up — a 
bull pup against a kiss, and, you see, I won. 
Of course, it was all a joke — but I was brute 
enough to make her pay up — you know how 
those things are — huh? Now, of course, it 
would be rather nasty for the girl if it got 
about, so I can depend on you to keep it 
dark, can't I? Much obliged. And, say, 
shut Miss March up, can't you ? I '11 appre- 
ciate it very much indeed. Little Miss Gay 
is a nice sort of child, don't you know — not 
too much brain, nor anything of that sort, 
but I would n't have her made uncomfor- 
table about the affair, you know. 

Look — they 're pulling up the sails on the 
Pinta — we'd better be off. There go the 
girls now. I say — Miss Gay — [Calls] Miss 
March — wait a minute! [They hurry off.] 



IV 

Scene — Hotel porch, at night. 
Marvel joins Miss Gay. 

He 

May I speak to you a minute? 

[They walk to and fro.] 

12 ^ 

169 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

She 
I suppose you know it 's all over the hotel. 

He 

That 's what I wanted to speak to you 
about. 

She 

I don't think speaking will do you any 
good! 

He 

I can't imagine who told it — 

She 

[Hotly.] Well, I can tell you. It was 
that Hudson man, who 's such a dear friend 
of yours. 

He 

I beg your pardon — it was the March girl, 
your chum. 

170 



HOW IT HAPPENED 

She 

You 're mistaken. She gave me her word 
of honor — 

He 

Hudson gave me his. But that 's not the 
point. I acted badly, I know it — I 've gotten 
you into a scrape, and I want to get you 
out. 

She 

Well, after that " bet " story you told, I 
don't see how you expect — 

He 

How about " Evangeline " ? 

She 
Well, I had to tell something. 

He 

So did I. Do you think it would help 
out if we announced our engagement? We 
171 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

could make it just as temporary as you like. 
Of course, I have no particular desire to 
marry just now — so I would wish it to be 
a temporary thing; but if it would help you 
out, why — of course, I 'm a little older than 
you are, and no doubt you would not care 
to marry me. But if, having clearly under- 
stood the situation, we entered into an agree- 
ment — 

She 

Great Scott! I never heard such amiable 
condescension in all my life. Do you think 
I 'd announce my engagement, temporary 
or otherwise, to a man of your age? — why, 
you 're old enough to be my father ! Besides 
— I have no particular desire to marry just 
now — and if I had, well — it would n't be to 
a man who hates poetry and novels, and all 
the things I like. And as for a man who has 
to trump a story about " bets " to excuse 
himself for wilfully kissing a girl on a 
moonlight night — well, I have my opinion 
of such a craven churl. Do you remember 
" my ideal " which you described so per- 
fectly last night on the beach ? Well, it may 
interest you to know that he 's a real man — 
172 



HOW IT HAPPENED 

his name is Bob Crandall, the famous Yale 
center, and I Ve been engaged to him for 
a year. I don't believe he 'd care about 
any " temporary engagements " with old 
gentlemen. Well, good night. I hope 
you '11 have better luck next time ! 

[She strolls off, laughing.] 



m 



WHEN MORNING 
BREAKS 

Scene — Nursery: morning. 
Discovered — Jimmy and Molly asleep. 
Enter Mother. 

Mother 

Come, chickens, come — it 's time to get up. 
Breakfast in ten minutes. Let us see who 
can beat getting dressed this morning ! 

Molly 
Is it to-morrow? 

Mother 
Yes, dear — now hurry! [Exit Mother.] 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

Molly 

Jimmy — Jimmy — get up. It 's to-mor- 
row! 

Jimmy 

Aw — it is not. You 're always wakin' me 
up to say it 's to-morrow when it ain't ! 

Molly 
Well, it is — 'cause mamma said so. 

Jimmy 
Mamma ? 

Molly 
Yes, when she came to say " get up." 

Jimmy 
Did mamma come in here? 

Molly 

Why, 'course! 

176 



WHEN MORNING BREAKS 

Jimmy 
I did n't hear her — did she, honust Injun ? 

Molly 

Cross my heart an' hope to die! An* we 
have to hurry up. Boo — it 's cold ! 



Jimmy 

First one that gets to the register can have 
it all to himself to get dressed on ! 

[Wild rush for the register.] 
I'm first! 

Molly 

You were not. I had my foot on first and 
you shoved me. 

Jimmy 

Aw — get out! I was on before you got 
started. 

177 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

Molly 

Well, I don't want any, anyhow — it ain't 
so very cold. 'Sides, there ain't any heat 
comin' up. 

Jimmy 

[Coaxingly.] Say, Moll, hand me my 
clothes, will you? 

Molly 
What '11 you do, if I will? 

Jimmy 
Well, I '11 give you half the register. 

Molly 

All right. Now move over, Jimmy — that 
ain't half. 

Jimmy 

Bet I '11 beat gettin' on stockings ! 
178 



WHEN MORNING BREAKS 

Molly 
Bet you don't. . . . There! 

Jimmy 

Aw — you got it on hind side afore! 
That 's the heel, you big goose ! 

Molly 

Poor Mary — did I get your clothes on 
wrong? 

Jimmy 

What makes you call that foot Mary? 

Molly 

'Cause that 's her name. An' the other 
one's name is John. 

Jimmy 

Mine's names ain't — mine's names is 
Maud S. and Heatherbloom. I bet mine 
can beat yours. Say, Moll — I '11 beat you 
washin\ 

179 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

Molly 

Well, you don't wash nice — mamma said 
so — you just wash a weenty bit in the mid- 
dle, an' I go all round — an' neck too — some- 
times. 

Jimmy 

No use my washin' my neck, when mam- 
ma 's always doin' it. I know boys at school 
'at don't never have necks done — never. 



Molly 

Not nice ones. Nice ones alius has their 
necks did. 

Jimmy 

Yesterday the teacher said, " Solomon 
Godowski, when did you have your hands 
washed?" An' he said, "Las' Wednes- 
day " ; an' she made him go right out an* 
wash them. 

Molly 

I know a girl 'at never has her hair done 
— not never. 

180 



WHEN MORNING BREAKS 

Jimmy 

If I had ol' long hair like yours — I 'd cut 
it off. 

. Molly 

[Meditatively.] Jimmy — if I did cut it 
off, would I be a boy, then, like you ? 

Jimmy 

Yep — kind of. 

Molly 

Would I be your brother then? 

Jimmy 
Yep — kind of. 

Molly 

An' would you play wif me, — tag an' 
I-spy an' ev'rything? 

181 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

Jimmy 
Sometimes — I would. 

Molly 
Would I be in your gang? 

Jimmy 

Yep — kind of. 

Molly 

Well — I will. Here is some scissors — 
now you cut it off. 

Jimmy 

Say, you'd better not — mamma '11 be 
mad. 

Molly 

No — I 'm goin' to be a boy, an' go in your 
gang. 

Jimmy 

You '11 get a lickin', if you do. 
182 



WHEN MORNING BREAKS 

Molly 

I don't care if I do — 'cause I want to be 
a boy, an' play, an' not haf to practise, an' 
not haf to be a lady! 

[James promptly begins to snip. 
Enter mother. ~\ 

Mother 
James Baker, what are you doing? 

Molly 

[Hastily.] He's cuttin' off my hair so 
I '11 be a boy in his gang, an' he '11 play wif 
me all the time, an' not tease me — 

Mother 

James, I have the greatest notion on earth 
to give you a good whipping! 

Jimmy 
Well, she made me. 

183 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

Mother 

That 's a nice thing for a great big boy to 
say about his little sister. " She made me ! " 

Molly 

Mudder, can't I have my hair cut off an' 
be a boy? 

Mother 

My precious baby, that would n't make 
you a boy. And what would mother do 
without her girlie? I would n't have her 
changed for all the boys in the universe ! 

Molly 

But girls have to be so nice, an' get 
hurted, an' teased, an' boys don't. I want 
to be a boy, mudder. 

[Mother gathers her into her arms.] 
184 



WHEN MORNING BREAKS 

Mother 

My blessed baby, you 're learning the les- 
son of feminine limitations very young! 
Come, Jimmie, never mind the necktie until 
after breakfast. Come along, lady-bird. 



13 

185 



"WHO'S AFRAID?" 

It is bedtime for Molly and Jimmy Baker, 

and mamma is tucking them into their 

two little beds. 



Mamma 

Now, lie still, Molly dear, and don't kick 
the covers off ! 

Molly 

Mamma, will you leave a little teenty- 
weenty light burning to-night? 

Mamma 

Why, I expect so! Daddy and I will be 
just down-stairs; if you are frightened you 
can call. 

Jimmy 

Ah — she 's the biggest f raidy-cat ! 
i8 7 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

Mamma 

Now, James, none of that! I want no 
quarreling, nor talking. I want you to go 
straight to sleep. 

[Mamma turns the light low, kisses 
them, and goes out.] 

Molly 

I wish Susie Jones's mother was my mo- 
ther. She leaves the light goin' full tilt, 
every night — Susie told me so ! 

Jimmy 

Aw, I bet she does not ! Susie 's the big- 
gest story-teller in the world, next to you — 

Molly 

Why, I 'm not a story-teller, Jimmy 
Baker! 

Jimmy 

You are, too, and you're a tattle-tale — 
188 



" WHO 'S AFRAIDl " 

Molly 

I am not — I am not — 

Jimmy 

'Sh! Do you want mamma to come up 
here and whip you ? 

[Silence for a while. 1 

Molly 
Jimmy, will you tell me a story ? 

Jimmy 

No, JTm goin' to sleep. What '11 you 
give me if I do? 

Molly 

I '11 give you — a — a — 

Jimmy 

Will you give me your new jumping- 

i8p 



rope? 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

Molly 

Oh, Jimmy — not my new one! I '11 give 
you my ol' one ! It 's 'mos' as good — it 's 
better 'n my new one ! 

Jimmy 

No — I want the new one, with the handles 
to make harness with ! 

Molly 
Oh, Jimmy ! 

Jimmy 

[Crossly.] Well, now, you don't have to, 
if you don't want to ! 

Molly 

[Meekly.] Well, I will. But you won't 
tell one with bears in it, will you? 
ipo 



" WHO 9 S AFRAID? " 

Jimmy 

Aw — you big f raidy-cat ! Who 's afraid ? 

[Jimmy gets up on his elbow, and 

begins.] 

Oncet upon a time, there was a boy 'at 

lived in — now — Chicago. And one day he 

was sassy to his father, and he up and 

runned away — 

Molly 

Who — his father did ? 

Jimmy 

No, of course not — the boy did ! If you 're 
goin' to interrelupt, I ain't a-goin' to tell 
it ! He did n't like Chicago much, anyway, 
'cause he had to go to school there, so he 
ist up an' walked off to — to New York! 
An' — when he got to New York, they wuz 
a pirate ship, there at New York, an' he got 
right on, and went off to sea. All the pi- 
rates wuz black, an' big as — Oh, they wuz 
awful big — 

191 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

Molly 
How big — big as papa ? 

Jimmy 

Big as papa! Why, they wuz giantses! 
An' every pirate had a carving-knife, and a 
gun, and a revolover — 

Molly 
What for? 

Jimmy 

Why, to kill people with, you silly! An' 
when they found the little boy wuz on the 
ship, they hauled him out an' licked him with 
the end of a rope ! 

Molly 
Is that worse than the back of a brush ? 

Jimmy 

Aw, lots worse! B-b-but the little boy 
did n't yell none, when they licked him — he 
192 



" WHO 9 S AFRAID? " 

did n't yell none, so they made him the cap- 
tain of the ship, 'cause he did n't yell none — 
an' he said 'at they 'd go to " Cubey Libree " 
and fight the Philip peneans I An' they did. 
But while they wuz goin' there a big 
shark — 

Molly 
What 's a shark ? 

Jimmy 

Don't you know what a shark is? Why, 
it 's a big fish — as big as — as — five elepha- 
lunts ! With a mouth as big as — this whole 
house ! An' teef as long as from here to the 
corner; an' if it wanted to — it could swallow 
all the houses in this block ! ! ! 

Molly 

[Faintly.] Jimmy, can I get into your 
bed? 

Jimmy 

Now — don't interrelupt ! When the shark 
saw the pirate ship, he ist swummed right 
up, and gobbled the ship down ! 

193 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

Molly 
An' the little boy? 

Jimmy 

An' the little boy ! But he did n't chew it 
none, 'cause it wuz such a big mouthful — 
an' — an' when the boy got in the oV shark's 
insides, he ist tickled him on his insides, an' 
the ol' shark coughed him up! 

Molly 
[Doubtfully.'] Why, Jimmy Baker! 

Jimmy 

Don't you believe that? THAT 's in the 
Bible ! An' soon as the boy got out, he be- 
gan swimmin', an' swimmin', an' swimmin' 
— Oh, he wuz ist swimmin' for two months ! 

Molly 

Without nothin' to eat? 
ip4 



" WHO 'S AFRAID? " 
Jimmy 

Oh, he ate fishes ! An' purty soon, when 
he wuz swimmin' along, he came to a beau- 
tiful island, an' he went right up on it, an' 
there wuz a b-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-1 princess ! 

Molly 

[Sighing rapturously.] What 'd she have 
on? 

Jimmy 

She had on a-a-yellow curls, an' a crown, 
an' pink tights, like the girl at the circus! 
An' when she saw the boy, she said that if 
he 'd kill all the bears on the island, she 'd 
marry him an' he 'd be a king or something! 
So he said he would, an' he waited till it 
wuz 'mos' dark, an' then he built a fire — 

Molly 

But where wuz the princess? 
195 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

Jimmy 

She wuz in to supper, of course! He 
made a fire, an' then purty soon he saw 
great big shinin' eyes, an' a great big mouf 
'at went—" WOO ! WOO ! " 

Molly 

Jimmy ! Jimmy ! What 's that over in 
the corner ? It J s got fiery eyes ! 

Jimmy 

W-w-where? I don't see anything! 

[He takes a cautious peep.} 

Molly 

It 's a-movin' ! It 's a-comin' after us ! 
It 's a bear ! Mamma ! Mamma ! 

Jimmy 

Mamma! MAMMA! I ! 
ip6 



THE OPTIMIST 

Scene: — Drawing-room. 
Discovered — Mrs. Howard and a caller, 
Mrs. Martin. 

Mrs. Martin- 
Yes, it is nice weather to-day ; but, as I said 
to Mr. Martin this morning, we might just 
as well make up our minds to a rainy month. 
March is the vilest month in this climate — 
I always dread it so. I just know I '11 have 
a relapse and get the grip again. Oh, yes, 
I 've been sick with it for weeks, and I 'm 
just able to get out again. I always have 
things so much harder than any one else. I 
have n't any strength or appetite, and I just 
know a rainy spell will set in and put me 
in bed again. No, I never do borrow 
trouble, but I think it 's well to be prepared 
for anything. No, my dear, now don't think 
of making tea on my account; I couldn't 
197 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

swallow a drop. I don't eat a thing — not a 
thing. 

Your husband 's been sick too, has n't he? 
Threatened with pneumonia? Dear me! — 
so many have died with it this winter, 
have n't they ? I was threatened with it too, 
but I fought it off. I think there 's so much 
in will-power, don't you ? He 's out again ? 
Well, that must be a great relief to you. 
Yes, sugar and lemon in mine. 

[Takes her tea."] 

Have you seen Mrs. Mathews since she 
lost her husband? Well, from the way she 
takes on, you 'd think he had been a saint. 
You know he was a perfect terror. We used 
to live next door to them, and I know. 
Why, he used to swear at her! But, dear 
me, she 's forgotten all about it now. Some 
women are that way, you know. Just a little 
more, my dear, — it 's so nice, — and one 
wafer. [Takes more tea.] 

Did you hear about that Sangster girl? 
Oh, did n't you ? She eloped with a patent- 
medicine man. Of course, I make it a point 
never to criticize any one, but I always said 
that girl would come to some bad end, — she 
was always laughing and carrying on — 
198 



THE OPTIMIST 

never could take anything seriously! No, 
they say he 's rich as Rockefeller ; but, then, 
you never can tell — people do say such 
things. Just a little bit more, my dear, with 
sugar. Yes, I will have a wafer, they are 
so small. [Takes more tea.] 

I heard that that Frank Staunton was 
going into business for himself. Of course, 
it 's none of my business, but I should think 
he 'd never dare to make any change, with 
that flighty wife on his hands. Extrava- 
gant ? — why, I Ve seen her with three differ- 
ent hats on this spring! And flirtatious! 
You 'd better keep your eye on her, my 
dear ; I heard her say that she simply adored 
your husband. Goodness, I should n't think 
you 'd ever have a moment's peace with such 
a handsome husband on your hands. We 
were talking about it the other day, and say- 
ing how strange it was that handsome men 
always marry plain women. Just one more 
cup — no — yes, I will have another wafer. 

[Takes more tea.] 

Did you hear about the new baby at the 
Dickson's ? No — a girl. Yes, that 9 s four. 
Of course I don't want to say anything disa- 
greeable, but I think the law ought to take 



MODERN MONOLOGUES 

children away from that sort of mothers. 
Devoted mother? Mrs, Dickson? Why, my 
dear, she bathes a three months' baby in al- 
most cold water, and lets it sleep on the 
porch in the winter time! And she puts it 
to bed at eight o'clock, just like a grown 
person, — turns down the light and leaves it. 
Never rocks it, nor walks with it. Well, 
all I 've got to say is, that was not called 
" devoted " when I was a young married 
woman! Well — just one drop more, and 
one wafer. [Takes more tea.] 

I must go. I want to be home when Mr. 
Martin comes. I feel sure that he is coming 
down with something dreadful — he looked 
so strange this morning. So many business 
men are dropping off these days. No, dear ; 
no more. I 'm sorry I could n't do justice 
to your tea, but I can't touch a thing. Good- 
by — do come see me. I '11 run in again and 
cheer you up. I hope your husband will 
come around all right. Adieu! [Exit.] 



200 



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